The fairest lady in this house stands just over an inch off the ground.
She’s an agreeable gal, who asks for nothing more than a warm space, a private place to take care of her necessary business, fresh water and a handful of crickets every day or two.
She loves wax worms too, but we save those for treats.
Miss Dino came to live with us on May 17, and she’s taught us all a thing or two about life in the crazy days since. Leopard geckos like her are direct descendents of dinosaurs. They evolved during the Triassic Period of the Mesozoic Era, so they know a thing or two about life and how to manage it. They seem pretty unfazed by human foibles.
They don’t sweat the small stuff. In fact, they don’t sweat at all and I often think I could use a little of that reptilian chill.
Miss Dino is discreet in both her tact and her toilette. Though she would be mortified by any mention of it, leopard geckos relieve themselves so reliably and so discreetly you hardly smell a thing.
She’s an active listener but she doesn’t gossip and I’ve never heard her utter a single negative thought. (I’ve actually never heard her make single sound and I find her restraint remarkable.)
When she feels uncomfortable in her own skin, she just sheds it and moves on. (She eats it too, which is kind of gross, but also really efficient. How awkward would it be to leave your discarded skin lying around for some stranger to examine?)
I like to think her perennial smile is conspiratorial, but I also allow that she may be chuckling to herself that we humans have a lot to learn. But, she is polite. Unfailingly polite.
She treats us all the same, which makes me think that our fair lady gecko already understands that great Higgins quote:
“The great secret, Eliza, is not having bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you were in Heaven, where there are no third-class carriages, and one soul is as good as another.”