I've always had a fondness for lizards. I remember trying to catch them as a kid, sometimes accidentally pulling their tails off in the process (don't worry, they grow back), and acting as their protector when the younger kids wanted to do mean things to my scaly friends. Since we got my cat, Jari, we found that he loves to hunt lizards and bring them in as gifts if he's in trouble. I appreciate the gesture, but I spent my youth as a protector of lizards and I feel a bit torn when Jari presents us with these little gifts.
My dog Dakota recently came down with a terrible bout of allergies; she's itching, green gooey-eyed, having trouble breathing and rubbing her nose feverishly in the grass. We took her to the vet and they prescribed prednisone. (Who would have thought my dog would be prescribed preds when I haven't?) They worked for the first week, then we had to start tapering them down and now she's getting one every other day and back to being miserable. All we can do is wait out the season of extreme pollen in the air.
The other day, Richard walked by the dog who was laying listlessly at the end of the hall and saw that there was a (dead) lizard laying in front of her. Apparently my cat went out on a hunt and decided to present Dakota with a little gift because he's noticed her recent downheartedness. I've never realized how capable animals are of showing compassion and kindness to their fellows. And just for that moment, I was pretty alright with letting go of that small death and opening up to his way of understanding.