Say your kid gets home (or you find it, whatever) with a basketball sized egg, saying “look what I found” and before you could fire up your "put that thing back where it came from or so help me"s the thing cracks and there is a baby dragon inside.
Unmistakably a baby dragon, not a dinosaur, not a lizard, you can clearly tell it is the creature of legend you very well know not to exist. Yet there it is.
Well you touched it so the mama dragon isn’t going to take care of it anymore. you have to keep it. go to the pet store for an aquarium and dragon food.
Considering I wouldn’t let him keep the fiddler crabs (they skittered every time I walked into his room) or the billion-legged caterpillar thing he brought home, I’d probably send the dragon back, too. Unless it starts talking to him telepathically.
Alert the media, then sit back and wait for the offers to roll in. Or something. Excuse me for not having a concrete plan for when my kid brings home a dragon egg…
Well, come to think of it, I guess I would call up Lloyd’s of London to insure it and hire Chuck Norris to guard it until I get the funds from the sale transferred to my Swiss bank account. Maybe get {insert name of reknowned herpetologist} to help me figure out what to feed it and what to do with it’s excretions (maybe I could sell them, too).