Some fine day, a tiger is going to get loose from the zoo and spread a swath of panic across the city. At some point that day, he’s going to cross paths with a little girl named Julianna Basi, who will sit watching openmouthed with fascination while all the other kids run screaming. He’ll put his head down and peer at this tiny munchkin-girl who is not afraid of him. He’ll open his big mouth and toss his head with a roar. She’ll open hers and screech, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” back in his face, at least twice his volume. Then she’ll bounce on her behind, open her mouth, and put two short arms around his furry neck, giving him a very gentle hug and a very wet kiss. And in that instant, she will have tamed the beast.
I know this because my Julianna has been well-trained in the handling of wild monsters. She gets daily practice when a two-legged Alex-monster pounds across the floor on all fours and tackles her. His fiercest roar—the one that sends little girls at Kidz Court running to Mommy—leaves her unmoved. Actually, I take that back. She is moved—to laugh.
Nearly every adult who comes into our house sucks in breaths through their teeth when they see the way these two interact. “Alex, be gentle with your sister!” they cry. Even I can’t help saying occasionally, “Not so rough, Alex!”
But Christian just laughs. “Good for him,” he says. “He’s making her tough. She needs to be tough.”
Well, she’s definitely tough, and sassy and opinionated and communicative, even without speech. May it serve her well in the world.
Kathleen M. Basi 
I could see this the way you described it.
Monster-tamers are pretty few and far between in this world; she must have a good mom.