I loved the dragon I found at the bottom of my garden. It ate too much lettuce and made my dad angry, but that was all that was wrong with it.
I liked the dragon most for the design that repeated and repeated along this (or her) lengthy back.
"That the Nike logo!" said my father's friend, who was an important lawyer.
"Not really," said my dad. "It's a little less curly."
Nevertheless, a court decided otherwise when the Nike Corporation sued. Soon after the trial, two men in suits arrived at the front door to take my dragon away.
"Bugger this for a lark!" said the dragon - his (or her) first words of English. "And you've never even bothered to vary my diet or give me a name." The dragon had a faint lisp. "Typical!" the word came out full of saliva.
"Typical of what?"
He - or she - never answered. Instead, the dragon evapourated itself into a cloud of green and golden smoke. The two men in suits were about to arrest me for polluting the atmosphere, but my dad bribed them, and they went away.