Once upon a time, about last Saturday, our neighbor came knocking on the door.
It was morning so I was still in my jammie pants, and I'm paranoid, so naturally, I hissed at the closed door.
It was a day I was letting my fantastic husband sleep in, so I answered the door all morning looking.
"Did you guys lose an iguana?" He asked.
"N-no, why? What's up?" I stammered.
"There's one out back on the rose bush, and as far as I know, they're not indigenous-" He goes on a bit and I'm processing that it is currently 29 degrees Ferienheight (that's about 4 degrees below freezing). I happen to know that that will easily kill our cold-blooded friend.
I mentioned bringing him inside.
"They bite, don't they? I don't want to grab it if it's gonna bite me." He said.
"Well alright," I said. "Let me put this baby down and then you can show me where it is."
I bustled into the bedroom, which woke up my husband.
"Sorry Love! I didn't mean to wake you. We have to save an iguana."
Having had iguanas in his youth, my husband jumped up, jumped into clothes and jumped outside to rescue the iguana.
. . . to be continued . . .
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