My dog killed a lizard.
It was just sitting there up on the wall. I half-squealed (a half squeal is where you want to squeal like a girl that’s terrified of lizards and other creepy crawlies, but then realize that you aren’t that girl), and Princess Fussypaws ( I need to protect her identity so that isn’t her real name) came to the rescue! Da-da-da!
She pounced on the wall, nearly knocking over the very large vase I keep there for absolutely no reason, caught it IN HER MOUTH (ewww), and then dropped it to the floor terrified. It was dead. She looked up at me with a ‘What now?’ expression. While all I could think of was how I would need to thoroughly brush her teeth.
On one hand I’m glad Princess Fussypaws, the very same dog that refuses to eat broken crackers because they are not up to her standards of perfection, killed a lizard. On the other hand, I’m not so sure I should be condoning violence. Princesses do not murder little baby reptiles.
She isn’t well today. She’s been curled up in a little ball all day. I think she might be suffering a guilty conscience.