To anybody else he would have been Fred Halbfranzband, Assistant Director of the New York Zoological Gardens, but I instantly recognized him as Manfred Agidius Rudiger Wolfgang Bonifaz Humfried von Halbfranzband und zu Saffian, rightful heir by lineal descent to the throne of Schwundia, which, even though that country had been absorbed into Luxembourg in 1867, still made him a prince in my book.
He was old, he was fat, he was nearsighted. I didn’t care. All I wanted was for him to take me in his arms and kiss me—tenderly, passionately, paternally. I didn't care which type of osculation he used as long as the kiss itself was a fait accompli.
“Darling!” I trumpeted, leaping gracefully out of the lake.
Water inundated him. In my girlish enthusiasm, I'd forgotten how much tonnage I drew. But he didn't mind. “Aha,” he exclaimed, his pale blue eyes gleaming behind his spectacles, “just as I thought! The so-called Loch Ness Monster is nothing but a surviving specimen of Diplodocus Britannicus.”
I drew myself up haughtily. “Diplodoca Britannica, if you please.” But, to my astonishment, he couldn't understand Dragon. In my day, it had been a required course in all royal curricula—which just went to show how times had changed for the worse!
“Watch out, sir!” one of Manfred's assistants warned. “It looks dangerous.”
Me dangerous? The idea was absurd! I was tempted to eat him just for daring to suggest such a thing, but I restrained myself. After all, he belonged to Manfred . . . and so did I. Besides, I preferred herring, proving I was a dragon and not a diplodocus, because, I found out later, diplodoci are herbivorous!
“Kiss me, darling,” I roared, nuzzling Manfred — which was quite a trick, as I had to keep my interior furnaces under control. A French-fried prince would be of absolutely no use to me.
“Nonsense,” the prince said to his assistant, “the creature seems quite friendly. Probably the legend of its ferocity arose because tourists teased it.” He extended a slightly shaky hand—apparently he hadn't quite convinced himself that I was the innocent, playful creature I appeared to be. “Come here, nice boy,” he said.
Nice boy! A fine chance I had of getting him to kiss me!
But I kept my temper. I remembered that if I stuck with Manfred I could be visible all the time. And, as I was an exceptionally handsome dragon—if I do say so myself—I felt that more people should have the privilege of looking at me.
