![]() In a dizzying battle, Hiccup teams up with Toothless to save all of Berk from Red Death, the Godzilla of the dragon world. It’s the scene where all of Hiccup’s pressures mount in one gargantuan crescendo. The final, climactic scene of How to Train Your Dragon is the one that affects me the most. He refuses to inflict pain on any living creature, replacing machismo with sentimental smarts. Rejecting the archaic adult views of his community, and their promise that dragons “will always, always go for the kill”, Hiccup paves his own rite of passage. Recognising their fundamental selves in the supposed enemy, the boy and dragon teach one another to trust in their gut animal intuition, forging a friendship that transcends the confines of species. The unbreakable bond that flourishes between Hiccup and Toothless is the beating heart of this film, with the young-love romance between Hiccup and Astrid but a complementary feel-good garnish. The first dragon whisperer? … How To Train Your Dragon Simply gazing into Toothless’s electric-jade puppy dog eyes and gummy salamander smile is enough to illuminate the innocent fragility and emotional intelligence of all the creatures in the animal kingdom, let alone my devoted canine comrade. The DreamWorks animated tale of the young-bodied, old-souled Hiccup and his unimaginable kinship with Toothless the Night Fury dragon never fails to resurrect my boyhood and my kelpie Coco, bringing them both back to hyper-coloured life. All I could do was gulp the salty globules back down and wince through the cracks of my clenched teeth.Įven though so much time has transpired – with 30 years now under my stretching belt – rewatching How to Train Your Dragon kills me. ![]() ![]() Trapped tears swelled in the back of my throat. When the vet left Coco and me alone for a moment’s privacy, grief’s claustrophobic grip squeezed the wind from my lungs. Memories of lying nose-to-snout in front of the gas heater, our snores somehow in sync. Sixteen years of life evaporated into the surgery room air, stirring up memories of bee-biting, lawnmower-attacking and regurgitated cocktail frankfurter-scoffing. Propped up on her side, on a stale wilted blanket, my best friend’s rusty red ribcage ballooned for the last time the furry grey flecks around her mouth pulsating with her final wheezing breath. ![]()
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