Open Writing

DEALING WITH THE TICK PROBLEM

When Skye walked out of her lodge into the bright spring morning, the first thing she noticed was Swanfire sunning herself on the granite outcrop.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she told the dragon.

The dragon batted her eyelids and turned to look at the little witch. “Do you have any hatchlings, darling?”

“Hatchlings?” queried Skye.

“Little ones, who call you Mother.”

“I’ve got two, a male and female, and two great hatchlings, male and female.”

“Got it,” said the dragon. “I won’t show you my photos if you don’t show me yours.”

“You have that many?”

“Alas, a lot of young dragons get taken as prey in their early years. One of the worst offenders is that big lizard, the racehorse goanna. That is one cheeky lizard, and he’s no brains.”

“What can you do about it?”

“Not much, really. However, the big goanna is vulnerable from the air. Whenever I see one, I usually give it a hot blast – seals the juices in – then a slow hot breath to crisp it. Like a sort of stir fry.”

“Any good?”

“Tastes like chicken, without that burnt feathers smell. But you have to remember to roll it over, slit down through the stomach and remove the gut, otherwise the taste is spoiled.”

“Swanfire, you are full of information. Did you ever try crocodile?”

“Don’t like the smell of it on my talons. Takes ages to get the smell off. Also, I feel as if I’m eating a kinsman.”

“Lemon juice is good for getting smells off,” said Skye.

Skye looked closely at the dragon’s face and chest. “You’re looking much better this morning – sort of livelier, and dare I say happier?”

“I feel good,” said the dragon. “I like being with you and your elf lover, Woodward. He’s a card. You never know what he’s going to say next.”

“Wood elves are like that. Deep thinkers but with a short attention span. He’s only 73 – makes me feel like a baby snatcher.”

“What made you think I look happier?”

“Your eyes are lovely and you have eyelashes to die for.”

“I’ve always thought of them as windscreen wipers,” said the dragon, batting her magnificent eyelashes once again.

“I noticed you have some sort of irritation on your chest. What’s that?”

“I had some ticks there. I think I got them from eating bandicoots that the orcs threw to me in my stable.”

“Oh, Swanfire, they are protected. The western bandicoot is in danger of extinction.”

“The ones I got were road kill. That’s probably why their ticks migrated to me.”

Skye peered closely at the dragon’s chest. “You’ve had a bit of a reaction to them, by the look of it. I wouldn’t mind betting you are sensitive to the tick saliva. That’s probably why you were depressed and unhappy, not a broken heart at all.”

She stroked the dragon’s chest, and tickled a tiny sensitive area behind the dragon’s elbow.

A loud humming in her ear startled Skye and she jumped back. “Please don’t stop,” said the dragon, who had been purring. “That’s one of my pleasure zones and you put your little witchy finger right on it.

“Tell me more about your hatchlings, are they witches, too?”

“The male is a sorcerer, who spends most of his days looking into his magic mirror and giving it orders.

“The girl is a good looking witch who goes gadding off on a take-down broomstick, a Korean model. I think it’s a wha-gok.”

“Cool,” said the dragon. “I’d have thought she’d have gone for an American broomstick, the Hoyt has a good name.”

“It’s straight and true but the Wha-gok is much faster. However, I think it might have got slightly out of line in its carry case because the last time she used it she ended up in Thailand, working as a teacher.”

“Modern kids are a bit like that,” said the dragon. “Do you know a lot of them don’t even know their tables?”

“They certainly don’t know all their spells. They were never taught by rote the way we were.”

On this note, the witch and the dragon found a bond developing between them. Looking at the irritation on the dragon’s chest, Skye said “I’ve a feeling you still have a small tick or two under your scales. If you like I can remove them for you.”

“Best not to touch them, lest you leave a bit in and the wound will fester.”

“No,” said Skye. “I’ll paint your chest area with a bit of kerosene. Ticks hate kero and they’ll drop off immediately. Also, I’ve got some clean pantyhose and I’d like to make you a breast plate, covering your chest, over your shoulders, and covering your G spot. There’s no way a tick can get through a panty hose girdle. My granny always wore panty hose when gathering herbs in the forest where there’s a lot of game around. I learnt that trick from her.”

Skye went back into her lodge to get her needles and fabrics, leaving the dragon on the rock. The air was full of her melodious purring. Happy dragons are wonderful purrers.