Not just no, but . . .

Hubby found Da Kid’s lizard (this kind) dead a little while ago. Given to him by someone who’d had it for I don’t know how many years who said he no longer could care for it, it’s been here for three, maybe four years.

It started going downhill so Da Kid, who is also a Vet Tech, took it with him to his new part-time vet tech job (that’s in addition to his regular vet tech job plus his college schedule) at an animal E.R. yesterday, for one of the veterinarians there to see what was what. The prognosis wasn’t good and like I said, it didn’t make it.

I don’t do lizards but I’ve fed it and yadda yadda, so I got a shoe box, cushioned it with newspaper and paper towels and put the lizard inside so that way when Da Kid got home, we could give it a proper burial.

No. Da Kid’s and his fiancé (who also works at E.R.) were going to take it to the E.R. for a necropsy. Until they got here to pick it up, I should put it in the fridge — the fridge where I keep something called food — until they arrived.

I'm not a heartless person but not just no, ____ NO!

The lizard’s tank is heated in various sections to temperatures ranging from 90 to 120 F. so it had already turned a little . . . jiggly? Jiggly’s a very good word even it spell check doesn’t recognize it.

Let's just bury it!

No, the lizard, resting in my shoe box, is now on its way across town because as they explained to me what they find, down the road might just help keep another lizard alive.

(I'm going to miss that ugly sucker.)

Addendum: Liver. Why, no idea. And now there's a little patch of overturned ground about the size of a shoebox in our yard.