But at the time, the name seemed appropriate.
Hatched from an unexpected egg, and he survived being in the same tank as his huge, predatory mother.
So “Lucky” seemed like a valid name.
I’d read that it’s very difficult to raise baby anoles in captivity. Very tricky. They’re complicated, these cold-blooded creatures.
But things seemed to be going well.
Until they weren’t.
Lucky passed away last night. So tiny. Poor little thing. Not so lucky, after all.
I wish I was strong enough to hug the sadness out of Alex.
I know. He will be fine. Kids are resilient. Actually he even suggested, in a whisper, that maybe we could get another lizard or a frog, and give it to Julia as a surprise. She’s never had one of her very own. And that way the tank wouldn’t be empty.
I took the reptile books out of Alex’s backpack. He carries a few books around so that he can read in the morning before class starts. I left him the library book about moose and another book about night creatures.
And I put a little travel pack of tissues in there, too.
Just in case.
Lucky will be buried today, after school, in the boat garden, in the vicinity of Dinoraptasaurus’s grave.
Now I have to find a tiny little casket. The Land o’ Lakes butter box is way too big.