A Failure of a Rescue

My morning habit is to weigh myself. When I moved my scale, I discovered that the tiniest lizard had sought refuge under the shade of said contraption.

During the rainy season months in South Florida, I've often been the one responsible to sweep up the cadavers of anole lizards in my room. I even wondered if the one I had found was even alive so I gently blew on it to see if it would react. It moved a bit to escape the sudden breeze.

I decided to save its life before it met an unpleasant end in its unfamiliar surroundings.








I scooped it up with a sturdy postcard and set it outside so it could live peacefully in its natural environment.

Once we were on solid ground, the little lizard blinked into the sunlight. It raised its little head and gazed at me in a manner which said that it was grateful to have made its way outside. I was feeling quite self-satisfied and smug after having rescued a member of lizard-kind.

Unfortunately, my arch-nemesis, Nature, had other plans.

In just mere seconds after I had set down the little lizard, Nature decided to send out one of its goons to handle its evil bidding. That came in the form of much larger lizard that swooped down upon its prey, effortlessly picked it up by the neck and then mercilessly snapped it in front of me.

If lizards are capable of mindlessly fighting each other for what seems to be a question of territory, what chance do humans have in helping each other if animals can't even achieve this?

Lesson in Darwinism learned: don't count on being too nice because somebody else is bound to come along and mess it all up.

Barb the French Bean