The dragonpig

I didn’t see the dragonpig when I went for a walk with my son to the school. But maybe he was in the barber shop getting his bristles trimmed and his scales polished. 

Or maybe he was at the dairy, getting an ice cream from the nice Indian man. 

Or he could have been hiring a rental car from that place on the corner:

“Yes, I’ll have a car with a sunroof please. I’m a dragonpig. I will not fit in the car entirely.”

Or was that him munching on tan slice at the bakery?

No, I don’t think we did see him on the way or at the school grounds. But my son was sure – with a certain four year-old matter of factness – that he was around somewhere. 


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