RIP Barnwell the Lizard, PART 2

So my husband, Chip, was not at home yesterday afternoon when the famous lizard-slaying by my 3 year old occurred. (See post below, if you don't know the story!) Chip was not slated to be home until today. I told him the story over the phone, and of course Daddy was beaming with pride at his son's First Kill, and instinct to protect Mommy.

But there remained the matter of the dead lizard on the door stoop. "What did you do with it?" he asked me. I exclaimed that I had done nothing with it, nor did I plan to. He could take care of it upon his return home today. "No!" he fussed at me. "It will bring more bugs, which will bring more lizards, and . . . look, do you want a snake on the back porch?" Hmm. No. No, I don't. He insisted I HAD to dispose of the little carcass right away.

I stood there with the broom, a safe distance away. Ewwwwwww, I said to myself. If you didn't know that I have an irrational fear of lizards, again refer to the post below. I considered the possibility of sweeping it outside and having its little body decay under my Hosta. Ewwwww. I decided Chip's shovel would be better. Then I could scoop it up, carry it across the yard, and fling it over the back fence into the green space.

I assumed my stance, shovel in hands. What if it isn't all the way dead? What if I wake it up? It could spring to life, flopping and jerking around. It could race up the handle, charge at me and attack faster than my reflexes could drop the shovel and carry me out the porch door to safety. Barnwell might come back with revenge on his mind. Night of the Zombie Lizard and all that. See? I told you my fear of them is irrational. I just couldn't do it. Could. Not. Do it.

I went next door and found my neighbors just driving up in their car. I explained the situation - dead lizard, irrational fear, need to dispose of the body. I already felt like a village idiot. But to my further shame, the female was the one who jumped out of the car and said, "Oh, I'll take care of it!" Dear, sweet Mary Lou. I already thought she was a great neighbor, but now she's a hero, too.

As we rounded the corner to the back porch, I was explaining that his name was Barnwell and my son had slain him with a juice cup. Now she thinks I'm a wimp and crazy, too. Sometimes I just give too much information. Anyway, she spotted the shovel and asked, "Oh, were you planning to bury it?" No, I told her, I was just going to throw it over the fence into the green space. "Ah," she said, then she proceeded to pick up it with a grocery bag around her hand, the same way one might pick up dog waste. She wrapped the bag around and tied it off, balling it up in her hand. She was not bothered one bit by the fact that there was a potential Zombie Lizard in her very hand. He could have bitten her right through that thin plastic bag. She even stood there for a minute and chatted before heading home to throw it away! I know, I know, it was a dead lizard. I have a wild imagination. I probably need to address this with a therapist.