Fiction - Save the Texans
Title: Save the Texans
Words: 318
Warnings: Dragons, Texans and deer slugs, oh my!
Save the Texans
I'm a big supporter of environmental groups. Save the Bison, Save the Whales, Save the Gray-Checkered Whiptail - I've sent money to them all. To my knowledge though, there's no "Save the Dragons" campaign anywhere in North America - or at least not one that's ever turned out to be something other than an Anne McCaffrey fan club - and while I think that's rather sad, I'm also fairly sure I wouldn't like to get ambushed by a gang of philanthropic zoologists, netted, and tranquilized to wake up the next morning missing some blood (or worse) and with a government-issue radio collar riveted around my neck.
I have had to deal with the occasional hunter, what with the lack of federal protection. Sure, very few people ever realize what I am - including Tom, although some mornings, when he's feeling particularly well-satisfied, he'll admit I am an animal - but there are always one or two. The dumb ones knock on my door to try to catch me at home, and I've found the local PD is pretty good about handling these "poor madmen." The smarter ones... well, they were probably zoologists in former lives, because there have been some awfully well-planned ambushes.
The closest I ever came to dying was one time when a group from Texas caught me out on a bike ride in the middle of nowhere without even my cell-phone. It could have gone pretty poorly when the first shot hit, but by some happy twist of fate, I'd busted a tire, and the bike's collapse tossed me ass-over-adam's-apple. Not saying it didn't hurt taking a deer slug to the posterior. Still, no one gets to shoot twice at a dragon, especially when there are no innocent witnesses for miles.
No jury would convict me for what happened after that. It's not my fault that self defense was so delicious.
Words: 318
Warnings: Dragons, Texans and deer slugs, oh my!
Save the Texans
I'm a big supporter of environmental groups. Save the Bison, Save the Whales, Save the Gray-Checkered Whiptail - I've sent money to them all. To my knowledge though, there's no "Save the Dragons" campaign anywhere in North America - or at least not one that's ever turned out to be something other than an Anne McCaffrey fan club - and while I think that's rather sad, I'm also fairly sure I wouldn't like to get ambushed by a gang of philanthropic zoologists, netted, and tranquilized to wake up the next morning missing some blood (or worse) and with a government-issue radio collar riveted around my neck.
I have had to deal with the occasional hunter, what with the lack of federal protection. Sure, very few people ever realize what I am - including Tom, although some mornings, when he's feeling particularly well-satisfied, he'll admit I am an animal - but there are always one or two. The dumb ones knock on my door to try to catch me at home, and I've found the local PD is pretty good about handling these "poor madmen." The smarter ones... well, they were probably zoologists in former lives, because there have been some awfully well-planned ambushes.
The closest I ever came to dying was one time when a group from Texas caught me out on a bike ride in the middle of nowhere without even my cell-phone. It could have gone pretty poorly when the first shot hit, but by some happy twist of fate, I'd busted a tire, and the bike's collapse tossed me ass-over-adam's-apple. Not saying it didn't hurt taking a deer slug to the posterior. Still, no one gets to shoot twice at a dragon, especially when there are no innocent witnesses for miles.
No jury would convict me for what happened after that. It's not my fault that self defense was so delicious.