May 5, 2011

This is my life. How's yours?

Ah, Facebook and Twitter--you make it so unnecessary for me to blog, because i get to spew random bits of well..RANDOMNESS at any given moment, rather than wait to write about it on here. But alas, here I am...

Alright..not going to mince words here. There's a dead lizard in our freezer. It's actually a leopard gecko, but who cares? It's a reptile, it's dead, and it's in our freezer. It's not, however, just hanging out next to the frozen peas. Like, you don't open the freezer and yell, "HOLY CRAP! Is that a dead lizard?" No, no, my friends. Steve the Dead Leopard Gecko is lying in wait within a special lizard sarcophagus. Wait...i must take a picture...

See? There he is--on top of the whole wheat tortillas, next to the...what is that? Breakfast sausage? Yeah, there he is.

Here's a shot of the top of his casket:

He even has a lining--it's red with sports balls on it. He was a sporty little guy--what can I say? Poor Steve--such a noble gecko. So loved by Jenna. I wish that he would've just keeled over, but that's not what happened...

On Thursday night, April 28th, poor Steve was just minding his own business, trying to stalk a cricket while Jenna and I watched. He missed, and was heading back to his cave for a Dos Equis, when all of a sudden, he went into convulsions. Or seizures. Or whatever it is when a gecko screeches really loud then just goes stiff and starts shaking. Jenna freaked the hell out, which, you know, she tends to do, and started yelling for SMM. So, SMM runs up the stairs, and by the time he gets there, what we had left, boys and girls, was a limp lizard. Please, no offensive jokes. This is a lizard's life of which we're speaking.

What the hell kind of lizard has a seizure? It looked like he was breakdancing, and i said so, but Jenna didn't buy it. Dammit. So i told her that i don't think this is normal lizard behavior, and perhaps, we may begin to be a little concerned about his general health and well-being. Of course, Jenna was crushed.

Friday morning, Steve hadn't moved much. As we looked at him, he began seizing again. This time it was for about 10 minutes...then his tail just flickered around for another 10 minutes. Really?? I MEAN, REALLY?

[Seriously--WTF? We have the WORST luck with animals. We recently killed 3 fish, and now it's GECKO DOWN. I. CAN'T. WIN. I mean, we have a cat that we wish would die, but that fat bitch is still alive. How does THAT work?]

Anyways, so as soon as the girls go off to school, I start scoping the net for "leopard gecko seizure," and other such gems. I found a few gecko breeders, shot them Steve's stats, and they all came to the conclusion that it was most likely a congenital defect caused by the el crappo conditions that chain pet stores buy their geckos from. YAY ME. So, all these breeders basically give me three options:
  1. I can take Steve the Seizing Reptile to the vet and have the vet put him down.
  2. I can wait for him to die himself (he'll either starve or die of dehydration, since he's now practically paralyzed).
  3. I can refrigerate him, then when he's in a reptile coma, put him in the freezer.
Ay yi yi. Why do i always have to make these stupid decisions? Only a herptologist will put him down. The closest one won't be back into the office until TUESDAY, which means the poor lizard would suffer (and probably die) by then--which essentially, knocks out numbers 1 and 2 together. So...number 3. At this point, I really needed a shot of tequila.

I picked up Steve. His little body was pretty much shot to shit at this point--he was just floppy and to be honest, it was kind of gross. I was afraid I was going to squish him. I looked at his sweet little lizardy face, put a few napkins in a tupperware, then put him in the fridge...Farewell, speckly Steve...

I couldn't take it. Ten minutes later, I took him out and put him under his heat lamp so he could warm back up. I could not be a lizard killer. Then i tried to hand feed him crickets and mealworms and calcium powder to make him better. I'm such a nurse, but NONE OF THAT SHIT WORKED.

SMM came home from work early. I showed him Steve. Then, on cue, Steve started convulsing. He was hardly breathing at all. So, with a heavy heart, and reeking from germy gel because he is, afterall, a reptile so he carries salmonella, I put him back into the tupperware and entombed him in his wintry grave. --sigh-- I'm glad the light goes out when you shut the door.

Steve was in a lizard cold coma within 30 minutes, then i put him in the freezer and he quickly became a Gecko Pop. I DO wish this were the end...and if you're still reading this, you're insane. It's about a lizard, people. A DEAD lizard. But please...continue on if you so desire...

SMM and I knew that when Jen came home, it would go from "the little lizard we had for two months has died" to Code Red. We braced ourselves. The bus pulled up. SMM and I felt sick. I broke it to her gently; she cried--not as hysterically as we had prepared for--and then calmed down. We told her that we'd bury Steve beneath our little tree, and plant flowers there to commemerate his lovely lizardy life.

On Sunday, SMM went to grab the shovel to dig the hole for Steve. The damn yard crew must have taken it.

Status: Frozen lizard--still next to the tortillas.