Izzy wasn’t content to stay in her glass castle. From the start, she wanted to be with us. She’d climb onto Timmie’s hand, scuttle up her arm, and settle herself high on a shoulder like a tiny, scaly parrot. Sometimes she’d crawl onto mine, her claws gently gripping fabric as she perched with all the dignity of royalty surveying her kingdom. 

Stores became her favorite adventure. We’d tuck her under a light jacket or let her ride out in the open when the weather was warm. People would double-take in the aisles—first a glance, then a longer stare, then finally, “Wait, is that a lizard on your shoulder?” Izzy would just blink calmly, sometimes tilting her head as if to say, Yes, mortal, you may gaze upon me. 

She was unbothered by the noise, the carts, or the curious looks. If anything, she thrived on it. She liked the height, the motion, the steady rhythm of being part of the outing. To Izzy, the world was her stage, and every shoulder ride was a royal procession. 

Rule Ten: A true dragon sits above the crowd. Shoulders are thrones—don’t argue. 

Rule Eleven: Public attention is a privilege. If the humans bring you to the store, act like you own the place.