I'll admit I was worried at first when I saw my dog charging towards the dragon.
       We were up with the dawn, there to see the first rays of sunlight appear along the peak of Lookout Mountain. Most of my fellow residents of Golden were still in bed, but I was an early riser by habit, and Luna was always up for going outside. I'd let her off-leash as I warmed up in the park in preparation for our morning run along Clear Creek Trail, and she must've seen the dragon before I did.
       For Luna, the world is all about play. She never misses a chance to invite any dog she happens to meet to a game of chasing or wrestling. I guess she figured that a dragon would be as eager as other dogs tended to be.
       I wasn't sure how the dragon would feel, though.
       "Luna!" I shouted. "Luna, wait!"
       To her credit and my relief, Luna pulled to a stop. Hooray for training! And hooray for smart dogs.
       Luna looked back over her shoulder with her mismatched eyes--the bright blue one always looked a little crazy to me. Her tongue lolled out, and the tiny stub of her tail wiggled furiously.
       I hurried to catch up to her. A couple dozen yards away, the dragon crouched in a tangle of its own serpentine coils, staring with bright golden eyes. There was a man next to the dragon, who I assumed was its handler. The dragon came up to its handler's waist, though it would probably look a whole lot bigger if it stretched its long body out and spread those folded wings.
       "Hi, there!" I said, waving to get the handler's attention as I caught up to my dog. He was fussing around with something in his van, but he turned as I called out. "I think my dog wants to meet your dragon. Is that okay?"
       The handler was a middle-aged man, his brown hair going to grey, with a fit, athletic build. "Sure," he said, gesturing at the dragon. "He's safe."
       "Okay," I said to Luna. "Go slow now. Come on."
       Luna's training is still a work in progress. She took "go slow" to mean "you're cleared for launch." My dog bounded towards the dragon, her eyes sparkling, and stuck her face right into the creature's snout for a good sniff.
       The dragon reared back, its tail lashing, and spread its wings.
       The motion made the creature seem to triple in size in an instant as the membranous wings unfurled. Luna jolted back, looking alert and startled, but her hindquarters still rocked with the wagging of her barely-visible tail. She dropped into a play-inviting bow, then let out a short bark.
       The dragon slowly folded its wings back into place and extended its wedge-shaped head to sniff her. Luna edged forward, twitching canine nose meeting scaly dragon snout, and they exchanged whatever mysterious information that critters who actually had a real sense of smell shared through breath.
       Simple as that, a cross-species friendship was born.
       I still couldn't tell how big the dragon was--not its length, nor its weight, since their bones were hollow, like a bird's. In any case, it was much bigger than Luna, who was on the small side for an Australian Shepherd at 45 pounds. Of course, Luna had never let something like size get in the way of having a good time.
       "What's his name?" I asked.
       "We call him Rusty," the handler said. "His full show name is Marquis Roscommon-Aversund Côté Rouge d'MaCaffery, but Rusty will do."
       What a mouthful! "This is Luna," I said, then stuck out my hand. "I'm Susan."
       "David," he said.
       Rusty clearly represented an intriguing challenge to my dog. When she's with other dogs, she has a good instinct for what game is most likely to tempt her playmate. But dragons were new to her. She opened her negotiations with Rusty by offering up her favorite sport: chase.
       Luna doesn't much care whether she's the one doing the chasing or the one being chased, so long as everyone is charging around at top speed. For Rusty, she decided to offer him the chance to be the chaser first. She darted back and forth before the watchful dragon, bowing and making eye contact in an attempt to get him to come after her.
       I don't have much familiarity with dragons. I've seen them on TV, of course, and once my dad took me to an air show when I was twelve, but I haven't got much clue about their body language. When Rusty chattered his jaws and lifted his head as far as his snake-like neck would let him, I asked David if everything was all right.
       "It's fine," David said. "See how the spines on his back and tail are relaxed? He's just playing."
       "How old is he?" I asked.
       "About six months," David said. "They're able to fly at about a year old, and at seven years old, they're big enough to take a rider. But it's important to start socializing them pretty much as soon as they're out of the shell." He looked around at the park, still mostly empty. "People are usually curious about them. Most dogs don't care to approach a dragon, though."
       I smiled. "Oh, not much scares Luna," I said. "Except the vacuum cleaner. She's sure it wants to suck her down to Doggie Hell."
       He laughed, then bent over to offer his hand for Luna to sniff. She broke off her attention from the dragon for a moment to enthusiastically receive his greeting, then turned her attention back to her strange new playmate.
       "She's pretty," he said. "A mix?"
       "Nope," I said. "Full Aussie."
       I told him a little more about the rescue where I'd gotten Luna, and about Aussies in general. These were well-worn speeches that I'd given to many of my fellow dog-owners, but he listened attentively enough. It was polite of him since the animal in his care was much more exotic than any dog.
       Rusty gave no sign of wanting to give chase to Luna, though he did occasionally make a lunge her way when she passed close enough. This did not seem to satisfy her, and she switched tactics. Luna circled the dragon and rushed in to poke him in his coppery flanks with her nose every time she saw an opening.
       "Herding dog," I explained as David watched this spectacle. "She's trying to get him to move."
       "Does she bite?" he asked.
       "She just does that poking thing," I said, but I felt a little nervous. "Would he bite her?"
       "No, they only bite when they feel threatened," David said. "He'll make a hissing noise in his chest if he's getting tense."
       That didn't totally reassure me. "Would that noise mean he's going to breathe fire?"
       David smiled and shook his head. "Not at this age. They don't start breathing fire until they're about five. There's a gland in the roof of their mouth, kind of like a Bombardier Beetle's. That's why the flame makes a loud noise when it goes off."
       I gave him a curious look. "I thought we didn't know how they breathe fire."
       To my surprise, David's friendly smile curdled on his face. "Well, it's not magic, if that's what you're asking." He put enough of a point onto the word "magic" to puncture a tractor tire.
       I felt my own smile freeze, and my next words came out rather cool. "I didn't say it was."
       Luna is super-attuned to my mood. She paused in her largely fruitless attempts to herd the dragon and moved to my side, looking up at me with her bright, inquisitive eyes. I scratched the silky fur at the ruff of her neck, taking and giving comfort in the way people and dogs have done for thousands of years.
       When I looked back and David, he seemed a little chagrined. "Sorry," he said gruffly. "I'm kind of a grouch before I've had my morning coffee."
       "No problem," I said, still a little stiffly. Maybe he'd jumped to conclusions based on my Ganesh t-shirt and the Trinity-knot tattoo on my arm.
       Luna apparently felt I was okay again, and she returned to considering the inscrutable Rusty. She let out a huge yawn, accompanied by a sound like a rusty hinge. I laughed--that was a gesture she often did when she was puzzled.
       "Where's your stick?" I asked her. We'd played fetch when we'd first shown up at the park. Maybe the dragon would find that game more to his liking. "Go find your stick!"
       Luna's ears perked up, and she scanned the grass with eager eyes. She generally has a good memory for where she drops her toys, and soon she bolted off towards the base of a cottonwood tree where she'd left the heavy stick I'd been throwing for her earlier.
       I took the opportunity to get a better look at Rusty. He had a beautiful pattern of black and copper rippling along his scales, melting into gold on his underside. I extended my hand for inspection, and Rusty gave it a polite sniff, his breath startlingly warm on my skin. Then he nudged me, and I tentatively stroked the scales on his muzzle. They were also quite warm--dragons ran hot, I guessed--and smooth as oiled leather.
       I noticed a few ragged patches around his joints where the scales looked flakey. "Are those normal?" I said, pointing to one spot. I figured the dragon's hide might a safe subject to restart my conversation with David.
       "Yes," David said. "Happens as they grow." He'd retrieved a Starbucks cup from his van... maybe to demonstrate that his snappiness had been the coffee's fault.
       "Is he going to be part of an air show?" I asked.
       "We hope so," David said. "Not all of them are tractable enough to take a rider, but Rusty seems good-natured. Performing is about the best life they can get these days."
       "What about zoos?"
       "Zoos and animal parks pen them in," he said. "They have to, of course, but it's not good for them. A dragon who doesn't get to fly regularly only lives about a third as long as it should."
       "How long do they live?" I asked. "I mean, I know they're not actually immortal."
       He didn't take the comment in the agreeable way I'd intended. His face tightened into that glowering look again.
       "No, they're not immortal," he said. He then started ticking off items on his fingers, speaking in the same condescending tone that all my least-favorite professors had all mastered. "They don't read minds. They don't hypnotize people. They don't change shape. They don't hoard gold. They can't teleport. They don't use magic. Their blood doesn't let you speak to animals. Did I miss anything?"
       I shrugged, and my shoulders felt tight. "You'd know better than me."
       Much as I was interested in the dragon, I was starting to get sick of tiptoeing through what was apparently a conversational minefield with David. I thought about leaving, but just then, Luna pranced back toward me with her stick, her head held high.
       Luna liked her sticks hardy and tough, long enough that she had to work to keep from tripping on them as she ran. She thrust the stick into my hand, tugged on it a little while, and then let me pull it away from her. I reared back and threw it overhand as far as I could. Luna took off like a furry white torpedo in pursuit.
       "Sorry about that," David said. This time, he didn't blame the coffee.
       "If I'd known you were going to jump down my throat," I said, "I'd have used a breath mint first."
       He rubbed at his forehead. "There are so many superstitions that people believe about dragons. It's kind of a touchy subject for me."
       "I guess so."
       Luna returned the stick to me once again. I backed her off with a gesture, then held it away from my body, a little higher than my shoulder. "Jump for it!" I said. My dog catapulted her body into the air and snatched the stick from my grasp. She landed gracefully, then thrashed her prize back and forth with cheerful vigor.
       "Wow, she can really jump," David said. "You've got a natural athlete there."
       I felt a little warmer toward him. Flattering my dog is a good way to win me over.
       After Luna finished subduing the stick, she spat it at David's feet, staring at him with that cheerful, eager expression that only an Aussie can pull off.
       "She likes to give everyone a chance to play," I said. "Go on."
       "Should I throw it?"
       "Throw it, tug it, hold it up for her, doesn't matter. She'll be happy with pretty much anything."
       David held the stick out as I'd done, but higher than I had. Luna was equal to the challenge. She popped into the air and snatched the stick in her jaws. Instead of letting go, David held on as the dog fell back to earth, then let her wrestle it away from him.
       I noticed Rusty following all this with unblinking draconian eyes.
       "Luna," I said, getting my dog's attention. "Give it to Rusty. Give the stick to the dragon."
       My dog stared at me, taking a few moments to digest this, then followed my pointing finger back to the young dragon. She trotted over, gripping the stick by one end, so most of its length stuck out to one side, and waved it in front of the dragon. Rusty took the hint and sank his saurian fangs into the wood.
       Luna began to tug vigorously. The dragon's head swayed back and forth as he held onto the stick.
       Now I was glad I stayed. "I have to get a picture of this," I said. "Do you mind?"
       "Not at all," David said, his face softening to a delighted smile as he watched the two creatures at their game.
       Luna has endless endurance for play, and it seemed Rusty liked tug-of-war as much as she did. I snapped off a few good shots on my phone. David and I examined them on the screen.
       "Oh, that's a good one," he said, pointing at the image. Rusty's body stretched, his neck curving like a sine wave, lifting Luna's body almost completely off the ground. "Could you send me a copy?" He then seemed to realize how that might sound and quickly added: "You can go to our Facebook page. We're Dragon Rescue and Training. DRAT. It's easy to remember."
       "Sure," I said.
       He seemed genuinely pleased, and I felt myself relax a little more. "Pictures like this are great for us," he said. "There are still a lot of people who are afraid of dragons, you know. We do what we can to preserve the species, but some people think we'd be better off letting them die out."
       "Really?" I asked as if I couldn't imagine why. In fact, I had a couple friends who were into serious mountain climbing, and they worried about dragon attacks when they traveled to more remote locations.
       "Yeah," he said. "We think there are less than a thousand wild dragons now. The ones who are still out there have learned to be shy of humans. That's why I hate things like those stupid Breath of Death movies. There hasn't been an actual dragon attack on a human being in the wild for 55 years!"
       "Those movies are such garbage," I said.
       David seemed to take my agreement as some sort of encouragement to rev up his rant. "So, we have the 'all dragons must die' crowd," he said, again ticking off items on his fingers. "Then we have the animal rights activists who tell us we're cruel, horrible people, and we should just let every dragon free immediately."
       "Totally absurd," I said, nodding. I'd met crusaders of that sort myself, who actually thought any kind of domestication was an unspeakable act of cruelty.
       David didn't appear to hear me. "And finally, we have the woo-woo types who think dragons have magic powers or come from outer space, or maybe Atlantis." He made a disgusted noise, flashing a glance at my tattoo. He still suspected I was one of those dreaded 'woo-woo' types, I guess.
       Luna and Rusty were still playing with the stick, but now they'd progressed to a bit of keep-away. Generous soul that she is, Luna first let the dragon yank the stick away from her, then cheerfully lunged and bounded at the swinging stick while the dragon waved it back and forth. Rusty got the idea quickly and let her take it back, then snaked his head out as she danced in and out of reach with the stick in her jaws.
       In my ongoing effort to live up to my dog's example, I tried to extend an olive branch to David, though I thought he'd gotten into a foul mood pretty much on his own steam. "Kids are always interested in dragons. I bet you have a lot to teach them."
       He gave a terse nod. "It kills me to how people misinform kids with all the storybook crap about dragons. Dragons are an endangered species. They may seem strong, but they're so fragile in so many ways. They have to be protected."
       "From habitat loss, right?"
       "Not just that," he said, and his voice was just getting surlier. "There's big game hunters who want a prize trophy. Worst of all is the poachers. If the woo-woo types would quit looking for dragon blood potions or dragon claw lucky charms, the species might actually stand a chance."
       He flicked another quick look at my tattoo.
       I gave up. I didn't want to argue with this guy, and I couldn't even seem to agree with him without triggering a rant. Time to split.
       "Well, have a good day. I have to get going." I said, then tapped my watch. "Luna's not the only one who needs exercise."
       "Yeah, okay," he said. He seemed to have retreated into himself, and I guessed he was running through more points and counterpoints in his head in preparation for anyone who dared to actually pick a fight with him. "Thanks for helping Rusty get socialized."
       Rusty wasn't the one who needed socialization, but I kept that thought to myself.
       David turned to his van again, and where he began to extract a large sign on a heavy plastic easel. Probably some key facts about dragons for the interested public, once that public got out of bed and started showing up in the park.
       "Sure thing. Luna..." I began, about to call her to my side. Then I froze.
       My dog was poised, gathering herself for a leap the way I'd seen her do hundreds of times when I held a stick out for her to grab. And the stick was there, hanging at about the height of my shoulder--only nothing was holding it.
       I stared at the dragon, whose eyes were focused on the hovering stick.
       Luna, who did not seem to notice anything odd was going on, made her leap. She snatched the stick in her mouth, plucking it out of the air and hauling it back to earth for a good shake.
       I must've made some sort of noise.
       David turned his attention from his sign and looked at me. "You okay?"
       I barely registered him. Rusty was staring at me now, his golden eyes unblinking. He was unreadable, mesmerizing, and practically glowing with some deep intelligence. I felt like I was in the grip of some magnetic force.
       Luna's nose poked me in the knee. I looked down at my dog, who gazed back at me with a look of doggie curiosity on her lovely, expressive face.
       "I'm fine," I said. My voice felt like it was coming from someplace far away. "Take care."
       I looked at Rusty one more time, but the dragon now had his eyes closed and was settling into the nest of his own coils.
       My head was spinning as I walked alongside my dog down to the head of the trail. I dimly registered the familiar burble of Clear Creek flowing along its rocky course.
       What had I just seen?
       Part of my mind tried to revise the memory into something that made sense. The dragon must've been holding the stick up with its jaws... no, not that, he clearly hadn't been biting it. Maybe his tail? Maybe he'd wrapped one end of his tail around the stick, and I just hadn't noticed? Did dragons even have prehensile tails?
       I couldn't make myself believe it. The stick had been floating. Levitating. And the dragon had been causing it to happen because Luna certainly couldn't do that.
       Was this a dream? I felt so strange.
       My eyes caught movement upstream. I looked down the length of Clear Creek to the point where it bent around an outcropping of rock.
       A huge shape crested out of the water. The shape was something long and sinewy, ridged with supple spines. It looked exactly like Rusty's tail... but far, far larger.
       The stream was only about chest-deep at the most. The body to which that tail was attached could not possibly be submerged under this water.
       The end of the tail flicked up as its sinewy bulk slid smoothly out of sight, scattering droplets that caught the light like diamonds. Then it was gone.
       Clear Creek lived up to its name. I could easily make out the shapes of individual rocks in the crystalline water but saw no sign of any creature sliding a vast body beneath the surface.
       I swallowed hard and scanned round to see if anyone else was on the trail... if someone else had seen what I just saw.
       Up on the side of Lookout Mountain, something moved. I stared in wonder as two enormous wings unfurled. They spread, stretching out and catching the morning light in dazzling gold. I thought for a moment I would see them catch the wind, that I would see a dragon bigger than a jumbo jet rise into the sky, a creature that belonged in the legends David so despised.
       But the wings folded back, curling into the mountainside once more. In a moment, there was nothing more to see than the silhouette of a mountain I'd seen thousands of times.
       "What's going on?" I whispered. My legs were trembling as much as my voice.
       Luna rubbed against my thigh.
       I dropped to one knee and looked into my dog's eyes--one golden as an autumn leaf, one blue as a winter sky. My dear companion looked back at me with all the concern and love a dog can offer.
       "Why?" I asked. I wasn't even sure what I was asking... why was this happening to me? Why would dragons who could do such fantastic things let themselves be poached and captured and socialized for air shows? Why would Rusty hide his true nature from David--who, in spite of whatever else I might say, clearly cared deeply for dragons?
       Why were these dragons showing me this glimpse into a world we weren't supposed to believe anymore?
       Luna's ears perked up. She darted a quick doggie kiss onto my cheek. A reflexive laugh burst out of me that broke my shock and confusion like a rock through ice--and through that crack, I felt a sudden, joyous sense of wonder rushing to fill me.
       Luna did her play-bow--front legs almost flat to the ground, hindquarters swaying in an Aussie hula as her tiny tail wiggled.
       "It's all play," I said to her. I gave her a brief hug, reveling in her simple warmth. Somehow, everything felt all right again. "The world is all play, isn't it?"
       Her tail wiggled harder as I let her go. Then she whirled and bounded away, eager to get running and sniffing and splashing along our well-loved trail. The path felt new and alive this morning, filled with beauty I'd taken for granted on a hundred runs before.
       Smiling, I rose to my feet and jogged after my dog.