Goodbye, Geck. A couple of Easters ago, the Easter Bunny brought Tom two anoles. We named them Geck and Munch. Munch bit the dust shortly after an ill-timed escape from the terrarium a couple of years ago. Ill-timed, I say, because it was about 30 degrees below zero at the time, and, when we found him on the floor of Tom's poorly-heated office underneath a ski glove, he wasn't movin' much. He bounced back for a couple of days (once he thawed out), but then I discovered him - deader than a doornail - on the bottom of the cage. Unfortunately, things weren't as quick with Geck, and, after watching him get weaker and weaker (not eating or drinking), Tom put him out of his misery last Saturday morning. I think he knew it was the end, though: he used all his strength to eat his last meal . . . a fly that I caught and fed him. (P.S. Yes, anoles feel icky.)
23 December 2006
Goodbye, Geck. A couple of Easters ago, the Easter Bunny brought Tom two anoles. We named them Geck and Munch. Munch bit the dust shortly after an ill-timed escape from the terrarium a couple of years ago. Ill-timed, I say, because it was about 30 degrees below zero at the time, and, when we found him on the floor of Tom's poorly-heated office underneath a ski glove, he wasn't movin' much. He bounced back for a couple of days (once he thawed out), but then I discovered him - deader than a doornail - on the bottom of the cage. Unfortunately, things weren't as quick with Geck, and, after watching him get weaker and weaker (not eating or drinking), Tom put him out of his misery last Saturday morning. I think he knew it was the end, though: he used all his strength to eat his last meal . . . a fly that I caught and fed him. (P.S. Yes, anoles feel icky.)
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