This caring dad loved his boy to the moon and back. He’d do anything for his little lad.
So when his son came to him crying about his sick pet, he sprung into action.
The lizard shall be saved!
GoodThings.Top shared this funny story about one committed father’s interesting revelation.
Here’s what happened.
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was “something wrong” with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.
“He’s just lying there looking sick,” he told me. “I’m serious, Dad . Can you help?”
I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
“Honey,” I called, “come look at the lizard!”
“Oh, my gosh!” my wife exclaimed. “She’s having babies.”
“What?” my son demanded. “But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!”
I was equally outraged.
“Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce,” I said accusingly to my wife.
“Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?”she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!)
“No, but you were supposed to get two boys!” I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).
“Yeah, Bert and Ernie!” my son agreed.
“Well, it’s just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know,” she informed me (Again with the sarcasm!).
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.
“Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,” I announced. “We’re about to witness the miracle of birth..”
“Oh, gross!” they shrieked
“Well, isn’t THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?” my wife wanted to know.
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
“We don’t appear to be making much progress,” I noted.
“It’s breech,” my wife whispered, horrified.
“Do something, Dad!” my son urged.
“Okay, okay.” Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.
“Should I call 911?” my eldest daughter wanted to know.
“Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.” (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)