#fledgling dragon

Little You-I could not yet either walk or fly well enough for Algy to take his baby dragon friend to see the beach and the sea, and Algy was finding it increasingly difficult to keep the young creature amused.

But the weather in the wild west Highlands of Scotland was fine and warm for a change, which helped to some extent, for Algy was sure that Little You-I – like most dragons – would become far more fractious if it turned cold and wet again.

Deciding that perhaps some bright colours might cheer his young friend up, Algy helped Little You-I to fly over to a large azalea bush, which was in full flower in the warm May sunshine, and they settled down together in an exceptionally fragrant sea of pink.

Little You-I was evidently intrigued by the azalea, and as it gazed at the magnificent flowers it suddenly squeaked:

Frequently the woods are pink — Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town. Oft a head is crested I was wont to see — And as oft a cranny Where it used to be — And the Earth — they tell me — On its Axis turned! Wonderful Rotation! By but twelve performed!

Fledgling Dragon

Little You-I, the baby dragon which Algy had discovered with its leg caught between stones in the burn, kept complaining that its foot hurt, and on inspection Algy guessed that it had probably sprained its ankle while twisting and turning among the stones in an attempt to get free.

The wee creature only had tiny wings: it was able to make fluttering jumps between one spot and another quite close by, in a way similar to a fledgling blackbird or thrush, but it could not fly very far at all. So Algy decided to give it a ride on his own back, and in this way he managed to carry it for a distance of a mile or so, until they reached his assistants' garden.

Borrowing a small bandage from his assistants' First Aid cabinet, Algy seated Little You-I in front of him on a large log and proceeded to bandage its ankle, all the while crooning a suitable poem for children, over and over again, to distract it from the pain. And he promised Little You-I that when its ankle was better, he would indeed take it to the beach, to play by the sea…

I’m walking (I’m walking) with my iguana (with my iguana) When the temperature rises to above eighty-five, my iguana is looking like he’s coming alive. So we make it to the beach, my iguana and me, then he sits on my shoulder as we stroll by the sea . . .

Algy and Little You-I perched side by side in the tangled bushes beside the burn from which Algy had rescued the baby dragon, and chatted together in the bright sunshine.

Algy asked Little You-I how it had happened to be in this spot, and where it had come from, but the funny little creature only repeated the beginning of the poem it had recited before:

o by the by has anybody seen little you-i who stood on a green hill and threw his wish at blue

From which Algy inferred that perhaps this was not the first time that the colourful infant had strayed from home. But the wee dragon was evidently quite happy, apart from complaining that the foot which it had caught among the boulders in the burn was sore, and it showed no signs of concern that it might be lost, although it did seem a wee bit confused.

If his new friend had been older, Algy would not have been concerned either, but it was apparent that this young creature, just like so many fledgling birds at this time of year, only had very small wings which were not yet strong enough to fly very far, and did not seem to know where its nest was.

It was quite a responsibility for a fluffy bird, and Algy was unsure what to do. For the moment, however, it was pleasant just relaxing beside the burn, and so he started to make idle conversation in order to give himself time to think, observing that there were beautiful fresh green and red buds bursting open on the scrubby bushes all around them.

To Algy's astonishment – for he could not imagine how such a young creature could have obtained such an education – Little You-I then recited another poem by e e cummings in its squeaky little voice:

Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere) arranging a window, into which people look (while people stare arranging and changing placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here) and changing everything carefully spring is like a perhaps Hand in a window (carefully to and fro moving New and Old things, while people stare carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower here placing an inch of air there) and without breaking anything.

Fledgling Dragon