Lizards

Here in North Carolina, there are lizards – mostly skinks, sometimes other species. Either way, I don’t remember having lizards in Maryland, and I think the little guys are pretty cool. They eat bugs, and I’m always keen on things in my garden that eat bugs, preferably mosquitos. They hang around my deck and my garage – wherever they can catch some sun – and they don’t bother much. They do poop in the garage though.

However … the lizards drive my dog nuts.

My dog isn’t that bright to begin with, in my opinion. We’ve lately taken to calling him HeiHei and if you’ve ever seen Moana, you’ll understand. He knows commands and he fetches us the paper, but all in all, he’s pretty simple. Perhaps the downfall of a purebred.

I can live with his simpleness, but the lizard thing is going to drive me crazy. He doesn’t seem to understand he’s never going to catch one of them and while I don’t mind anything that keeps him occupied and entertained, I draw the line at my flowers.

The dog’s obsessiveness with these little, cold-blooded reptiles that are all of 1/200th of his own size, has led him to bury his nose in my flower pots in an effort to unearth them. They think they’re clever, hiding in the dirt, under the leaves. Not to be fooled, he is tenacious about them, and is not above snorting dirt and knocking flowers out of the pot and onto my deck.

He just won’t leave the poor things alone and really, what have they ever done to him to deserve this? I think, if they could talk, they’d be laughing their tails off, and high fiving each other with their tiny little t-rex arms.

In fact, I’m surprised no one has ever made a cartoon, Loony Toons style, featuring the scene that plays out on my deck nearly every day in the spring and summer. It’s entirely feasible that my dog has hit his head on our garage after catching a glimpse of a lizard and charging full steam ahead, all 100 pounds of him, unable to stop when he gets to the wall. If our deck was any distance off the ground, he wouldn’t hesitate to launch himself from it, if that’s what he thought it would take to catch one.

Ah well. It’s a source of amusement, I suppose, to all of us. It never really gets old. The dog bolts, dances around the flower pots, my husband yells at him. Dirt is tossed, and then cleaned up. The dog is put inside, and whines at the door until we let him out again and it starts all over.

Really, I guess we are the simple ones.

 

 

 



Categories: Piedmont Gardener

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