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I Always Wanted A Dragon

I have a pet.

His name is King Ghidorah. He is a juvenile bearded dragon. Much like yours truly, he enjoys sun lamps and leafy greens.

King is very low maintenance. He gets chopped greens in the morning and crickets in the afternoon. He explores the room and puffs out his beard to look tough. He tastes the air. He falls asleep on my forearm.

Pets are nice because they take you outside of yourself for awhile. The signals that move through King's reptile pea brain are alien and incomprehensible. When I gently stroke the top of his head, he closes his eyes and goes still. Does he enjoy it? Is he mesmerized? Is he wishing he was somewhere else? It's impossible to say. He might dream, because he sometimes twitches his legs in his sleep.

Bearded dragons are desert creatures. His terrarium brightens my room during these gloomy Portland days. King is very young and was born in captivity. In Portland. I don't think he has ever seen the real sun. Someday I would like to show it to him.

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