The Hazards of Flying Dragons

Shela stood at the back door staring into her vegetable garden. She knew something was wrong because Greg was standing next to the tomato plants with a bucket in one hand and a shovel in the other. What's the problem now, she thought taking off her apron and hanging it on a hook beside the door. Opening the door she followed the path down to the garden. Once she reached the tomatoes, she stood gaping at her prize winning plants. Every tomato plant in the garden was covered with a semi-runny brown substance that smelled like an outhouse.

"My plants are ruined," she said turning to her husband. "You have one minute to explain this."

"I think it's scat," he sat the bucket on the ground and laid the shovel on top.

"Scat?"

"Yes, dear," he scratched his head. "It's fresh scat... you know... animal poop, but I'm not sure what kind of animal produced it."

"You mean you didn't see the animal?"

"No," he turned to face his wife. "I saw the animal. I saw it fly low over the garden and I watched it deposit its calling card directly onto your tomato plants." He laughed nervously, "I just don't know what species of animal... or perhaps reptile would be a better word... it was."

"What did it look like?"

"Well, uh..." he kissed Shela on the cheek. "Why don't we forget attempting to identify the creature; instead, you go into the house, while I try to wash the plants off with the hose."

"Gregory, what did you do to my tomatoes?"

"It wasn't me... It was a dragon or at least it looked like a dragon."

"A dragon!?"

"Yes, Sweet Heart, a bronze dragon."

Sighing she went back into the house.