Oh, Whatever. I Hate Titles

It's a bummer of a week over here. My son's beloved bearded dragon, Drake, died Monday.

I know, I know. Most of us mammal lovers will say Come On. It was a lizard. A lizard that cost $70, from a reputable pet store. But for my herpetologist, that little reptile was his world. He worked very hard to get it; we made him do all his research on what it needed to live, habitat, feeding, etc. When he finally did get Drake he was so conscientious about when the basking light was to go on and off he set the alarm for 6 am. In the summer. He was a positive demon about cleaning the $120 terrarium- the rest of his room didn't get that kind of attention. I heard him say wash your hands before you touch him, please so many times that I wondered where my messy, procrastinating teenager had gone.

From what information we could get, some lizards are very picky about their diet. But they will turn their pointed noses up to the point of starvation, which is what Drake did. We had just bought a different food source and vitamins and what not, prepared to force feed him, when he went South.

My son held him when he died. We buried him under the irises off the front patio, and Lord but there are times when being a mother sucks. Since he's a young man now, he's past crying on my shoulder. Since he's a carbon copy of his father, he won't talk much. My main worry is that he'll blame himself- but there's not much he could have done. He worked as hard for that animal as I worked for him. Thank God the salamander we got from a kiosk in the mall for $30 is still going strong.