Sorry, Googlers. It’s neither a Spanish painting nor a sexual reference. I’m reporting today the sad news that the Little Dudes’ leopard gecko has gone on to the great aquarium with wood chips and plastic plants in the sky.
It’s not my fault, so stop looking at me that way. Sure, I groused about taking care of a tiny snake-with-legs, but I cared about Poon, dammit. Sorta. I gave him water. I purchased live crickets and dumped them in every Saturday. Poon was a terrible cricket hunter, that’s all. I mean, at first, he was all sneaky and pouncey, but for the past few months, he lost his will, and possibly his eyesight. Crickets would sit right in front him, wagging their teeny cricket tongues, but Poon couldn’t seal the deal.
When I found him recently, belly-up, spiky little toes curled in a final farewell, I couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved. No longer will I have to visit the geek department of PetSmart to buy live bugs for a reptile. True, I’ve met some really interesting and hairy people there. You have no idea how many Star Trek fans own lizards. But mostly, I was relieved that I no longer have to tell visitors to my home that the speckled thing behind the glass is named “Poon.” Go back with me in time, won't you, to the arrival of said Poon, two years ago…
It was December 21st, A fierce blizzard ravaged Colorado, stopping all activity, including sleighs and FedEx trucks. All scheduled deliveries to the state sat idling in on closed highways, hundreds of miles away. Mommies and Daddies frantically called UPS and Amazon.com. Where were the presents? Would they make it? Sadly, the answer was no. There would be no holidays for the children of Denver. December 22nd, another blizzard hits the Front Range, pretty much insuring that only prudent thinker-in-advance-types (whatever, brown-nosers) or super creative parents able to craft Nintendo games from toaster parts would have gifts for their children. December 24th, the clock is ticking. Loudly. My charming husband, being a loving and brave man, digs out a vehicle. Determined, I set off in search of any open retail outlet, fully planning on creating gifts from the pharmacy and liquor store.
Through the drifts there was a glowing red light. I crept towards it, thankful for four wheel drive and new wiper blades. A few brave souls had dug out the front of the PetSmart so that doggies and kitties across the Denver metro might get their kibble. Inside, I slipped on wet lineoleum floors around the "careful slippery floors" sign and slid into the reptile department. After years of saying NO FRICKIN WAY to owning a snake-with-legs, this would be the ultimate surprise for my darling babies! I left with lizard, ugly lamp thing, glass box, initial supply of nasty little crickets, and an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. Yes, Virginia, there is a gecko.
The next morning, after the hot chocolate and mimosas had been polished off, and all the wrapping paper cleared away, I had the following conversation.
Happy Six Year Old: Oh, Mom! I cannot believe we got a lizard! We will call him Poon!
Mimosa’ed Mommy: What? Huh? No. No, you can’t call him that.
Happy Six Year Old: Why not? Poon is a good name!
Mimosa’ed Mommy: No. Dude, it’s not nice.
Happy Six Year Old: Why is it not nice? What does it mean?
Mimosa’ed Mommy: Well, ummm. Uh, forget it. Poon is a great name. Does it say in there how long they live? And, where’s my glass?
Some things are better left unexplained.
So long, Poon.
can't believe I never actually know the slimy little guy's name was Poon - I would have spent more time with him. Our condolences.
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