If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome,

including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you

laughing out loud!

Overview: I had to take my son's lizard to the vet. Here's what happened:

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something

wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.

"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you

help?"

I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his

bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking

stressed. I immediately knew what to do.

"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"

"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."

"What?" my son demanded. "But their names a re Bert and Ernie, Mom!" I was

equally outraged.

"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce,"

I said accusingly to my wife.

"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired

(I think she actually said this

sarcastically!).

"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most

loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).

"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed

me (Again with the sarcasm!).

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I

shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be a

wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of

birth."

"Oh, gross!" they shrieked.

"Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny

little l izard babies?" my wife wanted to know.

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny

foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.

"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted. "It's breech," my

wife whispered, horrified.

"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.

"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next

appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times

with the same results.

"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could

talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my

house?)

"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son

holding the cage in his lap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.

"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be so

cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this

boy is of her womb, for God's sake.).

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little

animal through a magnifying glass.

"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.

"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to

you privately for a moment?"

I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact,

that isn't EVER going to happen . . . Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a

young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male

species, they um . . . um . . . masturbate. Just the way he did, lying on

his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.

We were silent, absorbing this.

"So, Ernie's just . . . just . . . excited," my wife offered.

"Exactly," the vet replied, re lieved that we understood.

More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And

then even laugh loudly.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I

married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.

Tears were now running down her face. "It's just . . that . . . I'm

picturing you pulling on its . . . its . . . teeny little . . ." She gasped

for more air to bellow in laughter once more.

"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the

lizard and our son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be

okay.

"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad," he told me.

"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.

Two lizards: $140.

One cage: $50.

Trip to the vet: $30.

Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie: Priceless!

Moral of the story: Pay attention in biology class. Lizards lay eggs.

It wasnt making any sense to me. I rember from science class that reptiles lay eggs. But you have to read it all the way. Its a good one.

Funny.