Sending Out Iridescent Breaths

       I have a dinosaur that inhabits the east side of my backyard. He is a slow-moving, grumpy old man that only comes out of hiding between April and October. Short, elephant-like stumpy legs protrude from a large basketball-sized disc covered in hexagons shaded in greens and browns. A long serpent-like neck supports a bulbous head that stretches out for beady black eyes to stare you down. He has emerged from a six-month hibernation ravenous for a meal consisting of dark leafy greens and topped with bright crimson, juicy strawberries.       This demanding, minuscule but giant reptile is named Yertle. He is a loved companion that wandered into my family's life around 2009. The nation was in a recession, and our neighborhood had become desolate due to the many empty homes facing foreclosure. I had just arrived home after driving two hours in the scorching heat following a grueling 12-hour shift at the hospital. Dusk was setting in as I pulled into the driveway, and as I in