The beautiful woman glanced idly at me, as Spot went bounding over to her green, and my hackles went up. I can’t tell you why. I should have been salivating over her, but there was something chill and arrogant in her carriage.

“Wheeo, Spot,” I said, whistling. “Back off there, buddy.” He was sniffing the green’s haunches. “Sorry, lady. He’s not been fixed yet.”

She laughed politely, primly, and whistled up her green. “Come along, Portia.”

Portia and Spot ignored us, of course. Spot reared back displaying his speckled wings. Portia fluttered her wings right back, displaying a pretty iridescent blue underbelly.

“Aw, damn,” I said. I really should have gotten Spot fixed. He was about to re-enact entire scenes from Marty Stouffer’s Draconis Amerigo right there. I could even hear Marty’s voice in my head: The male dragon flaunts his plumage to indicate sexual interest….

The pretty lady bit her lip and burst out, “Can’t you control your dragon, sir? Portia’s a pure-bred Antares.”