You are anxious and frightened. You say, "There is a bad pig in the house."
I think. I say, "That's ok. Even bad pigs need to be loved."
You still look pained.
I say, "I can take the bad pig home. Will that help? I'm good with bad pigs. Bad pigs just need a little extra care and attention. I can take good pigs too."
You still look worried. Not reassured. Not at all.
I say, "Do you want me to try to keep the bad pig from hurting anyone else?"
Your face relaxes.
I made you the dragon, a fire lizard, from a coat hanger and a toilet paper tube, gold lame fabric and black felt, when I was in college. It sits on your shoulders, tail curled around your neck. We both wanted one after reading Anne McCaffery. I didn't want googly eyes, so she has earrings for eyes. Gold post earrings with rubies. Her expression is a toothy gleeful smile. She is either laughing or about to bite or both.
I ask everyone if I can take the dragon home, you first and then your family. Yes, everyone says.
She is in my living room watching. I don't know what you named her, but she has another name, a new name.