I'm not afraid of dragons. Mine has been far more reliable than a surprising number of humans.

She has an exquisitely calibrated bullshit meter, particularly sensitive to the distance between what people claim to value and how they behave when those values become inconvenient. She also has an excellent memory for conversations other people seem to recall rather differently. A slight change in someone's voice and that enormous head lifts. Usually, I know what she's noticed. Occasionally, I wonder whether she's hearing the present conversation or an echo of an older one. I listen anyway, although I'd prefer to finish my coffee before considering the implications. One does like to enjoy an afternoon.

For years, I simply thought I was observant, independent, good under pressure, and blessed with a fairly low tolerance for nonsense. All qualities I rather enjoy. I can usually remain articulate when a conversation becomes ridiculous, although the occasional sarcastic remark does escape. I've never claimed to be a saint.

I've always been fascinated by the contradictions in people. Someone can be affectionate, generous, genuinely lovely, and occasionally quite impossible, sometimes within the same afternoon. I've never found dividing humanity into villains and saints particularly useful. Most of us would be difficult to classify before lunch. I am, however, intrigued by the timing of people's concern for manners. Someone can say or do something spectacularly unkind, and there will be no shortage of explanations. They're upset. They're having a difficult time. You know how they are. But describe what was actually said, or receive it with anything less than impeccable composure, and suddenly your tone becomes the matter of great concern. You're expected to take it well, apparently. An extraordinary moment to discover a passion for etiquette, but there we are. I happen to value good manners enormously. I'd simply prefer their application to begin a little earlier in the proceedings.

My dragon has protected more people than just me. Her protection is welcome; her teeth are apparently a character flaw. She has enough fire to make a formidable argument, but when she's had enough, she generally creates distance. I admire that about her.

I used to be rather pleased with my ability to manage volitile situations. I could remain composed, follow an unpleasant conversation, and get on with my day. Several hours later, however, my shoulders would tighten. Nausea would arrive, accompanied by a peculiar fear that seemed to have missed the actual event and decided to make an appearance anyway. Sometimes I could feel tears somewhere behind my eyes, but they wouldn't come. It took me until quite recently to recognize these episodes as panic attacks. My mind had apparently concluded the discussion while my body was still in attendance.

I'm still fond of being capable. It's useful, and I've worked hard at it. But I've occasionally devoted an extraordinary amount of intelligence to understanding situations I wasn't enjoying. Being able to manage something can make it strangely easy to forget that you have other choices. My dragon has generally been quicker to notice when a conversation has exhausted its possibilities. I remain curious about people, although I'm becoming less enthusiastic about conducting the same research indefinitely.

Some people have a lovely way of handling awkwardness without passing the discomfort on to whoever happens to be nearest. I notice it, especially when impatience would have been easier. It can make me absurdly fond of someone, even when I know very little else about them.

People sometimes assume I'm not much of a hugger. I'm selective, a quality I consider elegant rather than difficult. I like my personal space and see no particular reason every social encounter should involve a ceremonial embrace. Yet there are a handful of humans I've wanted to hug with absolutely everything I have, simply because of how they are.

I've become rather creative about those hugs. Sometimes I feed them. Sometimes I spend hours developing a strategy to move someone's lifelong dream a little closer to reality. I've even taken on responsibilities that might help build something lasting for people I care about, long after I'm gone. These can become unusually labor-intensive embraces. Occasionally, though, I'd happily abandon all that ingenuity and simply wrap my arms around someone. The traditional method has considerable merit.

My dog and cat are enthusiastic supporters of it. They fall asleep against me with such complete confidence that I sometimes envy them a little. The dog settles as though every important decision has already been made. The cat goes wonderfully limp, apparently satisfied with the household arrangements. They've decided I'm safe, and I find that enormously touching. There's a particular weight to a sleeping animal that feels like the highest compliment one can receive. I'd love to know that feeling from the other side. I look at them and think of my dragon. I've spent years admiring how much she notices, and rather less time considering what she's been looking after.

I wonder whether she's tired.

She's spent a long time listening for changes in the weather, sometimes while the rest of the world was getting on with something considerably more interesting. I hope she's enjoyed herself along the way. It occurs to me that I've rarely thought to ask. As for training her, I suspect she'd find an obedience course deeply insulting. Frankly, I think she'd have a point. I have no desire to make her a more convenient creature. I imagine us in the sunshine, my dog pressed against me, my cat draped somewhere impractical, all four of us tucked into one ridiculous cuddle cocoon. There's laughter nearby, perhaps an interesting conversation wandering off in an unexpected direction, a fire, some music. My dragon would probably keep one eye open at first. Old habits. I'd reach over and stroke those magnificent scales, and perhaps, after enough afternoons like that, she'd close the other eye too. Maybe she'd sleep deeply for once, with nothing requiring her attention.

I would love that for her.

Besides, every girl deserves a dragon.

And maybe I'm finally learning how to care for mine.