Lizard euthanasia....

If you've been following my blog, you know that I have a problem with animals.

I love having pets. Whenever someone is trying to give away an unwanted animal, they always call me first, knowing that I am an animal lover (read: sucker).

I remember once being saddled with a Siamese cat that my aunt claimed was just a wonderful pet, but she could no longer keep it. Said cat spent two days huddled behind our guest room toilet, hissing and swiping, claws fully extended, at anyone who tried to coax her out to eat or use the kitty box.

"Get rid of that damn cat," was all Steve said. Feeling grateful for his intervention, I did just that.

Little animals are another story. So is having a classroom of my own. See, there I can indulge myself. Frogs, turtles, guinea pigs and lizards have all shared their lives with me and my preschool counterparts.

Our last little pet was a spotted leopard gecko named, of all things, Sunnie-Lovie. If you don't want names like that, never ask a 4 year old little girl for suggestions.

Anyway, Sunnie-Lovie was a good pet. She (I am assuming she was a she, given that I don't know how to determine the gender of lizards) spent her many years with us asleep on her heated rock. Other than that, her sole source of exercise was chasing crickets, and swallowing them whole as they continued to wriggle.

That my students absolutely loved lizard feeding time is a good indicator of true human nature. They would gather around the tank and actually cheer for Sunnie-Lovie to devour another living creature.

There were, of course, a few kids who would always steadfastly encourage the cricket but, really, they were in the minority.

But, I digress.

Lizards never stop growing, and part of the process is shedding their skins every few weeks. Sunnie-Lovie was a champion shedder. Even more fascinating was the fact that she would eat the skin as it fell off her body. Hey, this is a survival tactic, not something designed to make humans cringe.

But last summer, Sunnie-Lovie suffered several incomplete sheds. Each time she shed, a little bit of skin was left around her eyes. Because I did not address it promptly, this left Sunnie-Lovie blind.

After a while, she stopped eating. Because it was summer and I wasn't in my classroom everyday, I didn't notice until it was too late to do anything for her.

I tried to moisten her eyes with water drops and encourage the skin to come off. I tried to hand feed her - all to no avail.

Finally, my little lizard heart breaking, I decided that it would be best for Sunnie-Lovie to be put out of her misery.

Now, I was the kid who always sobbed when, in the Western, the horse had to be shot. I suffer emotional breakdowns during those ASPCA ads showing rescued dogs and cats and featuring Sarah McLachlan singing mournful tunes and encouraging people to donate wads of money to feed and shelter helpless animals. Really, I can't stand it. Without Steve, I'd be donating hundreds per month to this organization, and probably fostering dogs, cats, horses and goats.

But, I digress again.

Anyway, faced with Sunnie-Lovie's necessary demise, I considered my options. Really, what could I do? Squash her little neck? I briefly considered this, but it was just too much.

I finally hit upon the ideal solution - I would set Sunnie-Lovie free. Our school is surrounded by a wooded area, and predators like hawks, snapping turtles, weasels and other carnivores abound. Surely one of them would take care of this for me.

So, gathering my courage, I carried Sunnie-Lovie outside to meet her maker. I gently said goodbye, wiped my tears, and went back into the school, hoping that her end would be quick and painless.

Hours later, when I had recovered my wits and come to grips with the inevitable, my business partner arrived at school. We chatted for a little while, discussing things both personal and professional. As I was about to get back to work, she said:

Did you know your lizard is out on the sidewalk?

Damn.