Yesterday my husband decided – for some crazy reason – to clean the lizard poop off the piece of driftwood that's in the lizard's tank.
This would have been fine and dandy if we were talking about the OTHER lizard. The one we used to have. Before it died. That lizard was small and friendly (I guess) and a pacifist, apart from that eating crickets thing.
This lizard, however, the one we still have? He's a little scary.
Yeah, okay, he's only about ten inches long from nose to tail, but he's got a rather wide head and a big mouth with actual teeth in it. Lots of teeth. You should see what he does to an earthworm. Ick. I can't even watch.
Well anyway, I was in the kitchen doing sensible things like not sticking my arm in the lizard's tank when suddenly I heard, from the living room,
"He's on my hand!"
That was, of course, Bill.
Alex let out a great "O-HO!" of laughter and Julia came running from wherever she'd been. "Mommy! The lizard's ON DADDY'S HAND! Come see!"
So I sauntered into the other room, nearly dizzy from rolling my eyes so much (what now?), and beheld the following sight:
Here, let me zoom in a bit so you can see better.
No. He doesn't like to cuddle. Not that one.
Anyway, just in case you were worried, the lizard did not escape. Bill squirted him with water until he scurried off Bill's hand and back into his little jungle. The rest of the cleaning went off without incident.
I was just IM-ing my sister about this guy, actually. He was perched on his driftwood (Now Poop-Free!) a moment ago, just staring at me. I think I saw him lick his lips, too, but I may have imagined that. Anyway, I told Meredith about yesterday's excitement with the lizard on Bill's hand – and added that I took pictures. And she typed "haha – of course you did." Yeah, it's kind of a given. So much so that after that little conversation I wondered what my priorities would be if we were, say, on a safari in Africa and Bill suddenly had, oh, a really big crocodile climbing up his hand.