The Lizard Whisperer

I'm thinking I may have missed my calling.  Seriously.  I'm not saying my career as an attorney was time squandered; I believe I did pretty well and I know I greatly enjoyed the experience.  But, something happened today that made me think I might have this other skill set that maybe I haven't given enough thought to developing.  To be specific, I'm wondering if maybe I should have been a therapist, or at least an animal therapist.  And, you'll never guess how this occurred to me.  I have a lizard to thank.

It was mid-day, and I was, as the phrase goes, minding my own business when I noticed an odd shape in silhouette form on the floor in the hallway just outside one of our bedrooms.  Was this a large dust ball or just yet another aggregation of Mojo's shedded hairs that had finally achieved enough critical mass to attract my attention?  When it moved a bit, my first impulse was that it was simply movement spurred by the nearby air conditioning vent.  But, then its moves took on a much more animated, life-like aspect that no hair ball I had ever seen had ever indulged in.  As I drew closer, I saw this dark form was alive.  It was a creature.  I stopped in my tracks.  What am I dealing with here?  How do I keep Mojo from messing with whatever this is?  And, most importantly, is there a chance in hell that I can actually catch this thing?

Soon enough I came to realize I was staring at a gecko lizard.  And, I could see it was staring back at me.  My concerns here were fairly simple.  I didn't want this guy or girl setting up shop in the house and launching the Gecko Hilton where hundreds or thousands of these seemingly harmless little creatures would take up residence and tell all their buddies about how great life is inside the Jeff and Lily residence.  This was not the Party Central I envisioned for our place.  Not unreasonable of me, right?

But, as you know, these little fellows are super fast.  If you think you can chase one of them and catch them, you are seriously deluding yourself.  And, not only are they fast, they are nimble.  They can change course radically and in nanoseconds.  Not only that, gravity is not their enemy.  They can run swiftly not only on the horizontal plane (i.e., your floors), but on the vertical plane as well (i.e., your walls).  Chasing them is an utter act in futility, especially since this guy had already noticed me tracking him.  No, I said to myself, I need a different strategy here.  So.....I decided to have a conversation with him.

I know what you're thinking.  You did what??  You're engaging a reptile in an adult conversation?  Have you lost your mind?  Yeah, probably.  I'm not suggesting this was a two way dialogue, mind you.  I may be delusional, but I'm not a complete idiot.  Yes, it was a monologue.  First, I decided to give the little fellow a name.  I called him Steve.  People who know me are aware that I commonly name strange animals, whether they be burros, sea lions or monkeys as Steve.  I can't explain that.  But, Steve it was.

As Steve inched his way into the bedroom, I followed him very slowly ever so much not wanting him to take off where I would never be able to find him again or watch him slither into the air conditioning duct and forever be lost to me while he embarked on the initial staging for the Gecko Hilton.  Fortunately, Steve moved about as slowly as I did and he kept looking back at me no doubt wondering what my next move would be.  Rather than continuing to move forward, however, I stopped and crouched down and simply talked to Steve in a calm deliberate voice.  I asked him about himself and his family and what his plans were.  I assured him that I would keep Mojo at bay and that he had nothing to fear from me.  In fact, I told him, if he worked with me I would help him find his way back to the out of doors which I assumed is what he really wanted anyway.  In hushed tones, I described to Steve the beauty of the great outdoors, its tastes, fragrances and sights.  Steve did not run away.  He stopped, turned a bit, tilted his head and eyed me with what I will  most foolishly describe as curiosity and perhaps a sprinkling of interest.  I continued to talk in soothing tones ever so slowly inching closer.  Steve, somewhat to my surprise, held his ground.

I know this sounds ludicrous, but I began to think that Steve was beginning to think that I was not the threat to him that he first contemplated.  I was beginning to think that my calm, soothing demeanor and very slow movement were sending him a message that maybe this weird dude could help him.  That maybe he could even trust me.  As I got closer, I reached for a waste paper basket that had a plastic bag liner in it.  I moved in uber slow motion.  Steve barely budged, but we were moving, albeit achingly slowly, toward the back of the room where we would have our final showdown.

We were now inches from the window and mere inches from the air conditioning duct.  I kept telling Steve in the softest tones that I could muster how this could really end well if he would only let me help him.  He turned and now looked squarely at me, eyes tilting this way and that.  I was now down on the floor as close to eye to eye level with him as I was apt to get.  Ever so slowly I lowered the basket and encouraged Steve to get in.  I did not reach out to  him, confident that would only cause him to scurry down the duct or clamor up the wall.  I knew I had to be patient.  It was my only option, although Mojo was laying in the doorway his ears at red alert, his body ready to pounce.  In what seemed like an eternity, Steve inched his way to the basket and jumped in!  Of course, we'll never know whether Steve's decision was a leap of faith by him in trusting my constant pleas, or whether he wrongly assumed this basket was really just another escape route.  But, allow me the indulgence to believe Steve and I had a moment of understanding there.  In any event, in he went and I quickly took the top of the plastic bag and folded it on top keeping Steve inside for the few seconds it would take for me to escort him outside.

The interesting thing is that when I got Steve out on the deck and released him, he left the basket, but he did not run away.  Instead, he turned around, cocked his head again and looked at me.  I smiled and told him it was a pleasure working with him and that I'd see him around.

Back inside, I patted Mojo for his forbearance, and I patted myself on the back for tapping into a skill set I never knew I had:  how to meaningfully communicate with a lizard!  Who knew?!