Dream Zoo

I have an addictive personality.  It's fortunate for our family that I do books and computer games because we'd be completely broke if it was drugs. Although Bill says we are dangerously close either way.  My latest addiction WHICH I BLAME MY CHILDREN FOR is Dream Zoo.  It's a game. One of those ridiculous iphone/ipad/computer games. Which means I can play it anywhere.   Like under the covers at night, because WHO else is going to feed the hippo??? Really.

This probably stems from my inability to keep irregular ( I'd say exotic, but none of them ever danced that I witnessed)  animals alive for any length of time. Dogs and cats have had a better than average run at my house.  One cat just a little toooooo long in my opinion.  I'm the Dr. Kevorkian of family pets. More than once my house has been suggested as daycare for some rodent/goldfish/fill-in-the-blank that's out lived it's "Look what I have" ness.   I, of course , am completely devastated by this. 

Not Frank

Case in point, Frank.  Frank was a lizard that my MIL got for our 6 year old son one year for Christmas. HO HO HO - Hell no.  But he seemed manageable.  ( Frank, not the kid, I gave up on him at 2).  Frank seemed deliriously happy in his little plastic box , with his little plastic tree and little plastic rock.  Every third day I tossed Frank a cricket.  And Frank and the cricket would have a stare off.  I never actually saw Frank eat the cricket but he was always gone the next day.  For all I know Frank was running an underground railroad stop for desperate crickets.  Anyway, about a month later Frank was a little too relaxed on his little plastic rock.  As in dead.   Now if any of you remember Jane , my MIL, she was the unabashed queen of returns.  And so we loaded dead Frank into a paper bag and carted him back to the pet shop and they happily replaced him - as they were determined not to lose a sure cricket selling opportunity.  Frank 2 - ( we're creative that way.  Side note- Bill's grandmother was none to pleased to find out that we were naming the lizards Frank as that was her dead brothers name.  Should have been a sign). 

With renewed determination I took EXTRA special care of Frank 2.  I cleaned out his box daily, made sure his cage was clean and warm, searched out the best cricket markets.  I was diligent.   Frank 2 lasted two weeks.   Now I was pissed.

Dead Frank 2 in tow I returned to the pet shop. Without my MIL.  I needed answers.  The kid at the pet store started asking me questions:

Kid: "Are you feeding the lizard?"

Me: "Yes"

Kid: "Are you cleaning his cage out?"

Me: "It's cleaner than my house"

Kid: "Does he have water?"

Me: "Yup"

Kid: " Are you misting him several times a day?"

Me: "What?"

Kid;" Misting him, you know with a spray bottle?"

Me:" Why would I mist a lizard?"

Kid: "Because he's a rain forest lizard - he likes to be wet"

Me: " shit" 

I had a heat lamp in Frank 1 and 2's cage.  I was cooking the little bastard. 

Can you say Barbie boots?

There was no Frank 3.   However we did have a hamster named Woody.  It wasn't pretty.