08.03.17, 8:47pm: Like “Lassie,” but with Screaming

The Dingo and I teamed up to rescue a baby gecko. It was high up on the big-ass wall.

The Dingo has a certain chortle she sings when a critter, be it a roach or a lizard, is in the house and I haven’t seen it. It’s like Lassie telling anyone Timmy’s in the well, except it usually involves bug spray and a whole lot of screaming.

Her: Lady!

Me: Where is it, girl?

Her: *points*

Me: Oh. Up there. *calculates height, speed, distance, which piece of Tupperware is needed to catch it*

Her: *leaps as high as she can* It’s too high!

Me: Stop. I got it.

In one magnificent move, I climb the couch and trap the baby gecko under the has-been-microwaved-too-many-times container. Sliding a probably-important piece of mail under it in order to transport the pink wee thing back to where it belongs, the Dingo sits kind of patiently while I talk to the critter like a lunatic, “There ya go. OK. Back outside.”

Yet another successful save. Sure, the Dingo wanted to eat it, but not this time, pup.

Not this time.

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