We have a problem here at our house—the home which I affectionately refer to as the Hole-Inn-One, and I have finally learned to accept it. I don’t like it, but I need to learn to live with it because we have been fighting this little predicament on and off for years. Today was the day when I finally threw down the gauntlet with the realization that there was little I could do to permanently resolve our problem—the gecko infestation.
Our dilemma first came to our attention about three years ago, when Gordon the Gecko moved into the room occupied by Bryce. Dad tried to handle it humanely, but he was unsuccessful in his attempt to catch it with the hot tub skimmer. Sadly, Gordon was quicker than Dad and scooted into the closet.
No matter how hard we looked, we were unable to locate him. I must say that no one living on that side of the house—our West Wing—was concerned. Everyone was satisfied with the knowledge that “he is more scared of you than you are of him.” Personally, I have never been a believer of that expression. I think it is, to quote Vice President Joe Biden, “a bunch of malarkey,” but I was outnumbered, and I was not Bryce’s parent. It was not my decision to make.
Each time I went back to the West Wing, I would gingerly peek in the closet, on the wall, and behind the bed, but I never found Gordon. Winter set it, and we kind of, sort of, forgot about him. Then suddenly, one day months later, Gordon appeared again in the bathroom—the one with a door leading outside. Dad was able to lure him toward the opened door, where he happily scampered away.
Recently, Gordon, or perhaps it is Gordon Junior, appeared again on our screened porch, which was an improvement over his previous visit since he was not in the living area of the house. Still, when I discovered him lurking out from under one of the sofa cushions, I was not anxious to sit anywhere on the porch.
Dad grabbed a mop and began coaxing him toward the door, and with a smile on his little brown face, Gordon scurried outdoors. Sadly, that was when I realized he had a friend named Gale. I like alliteration, so I chose Gale because it’s a gender-neutral name beginning with a “g.” (I have no idea how to determine the sex of a gecko but it probably involves getting much closer than I would ever consider.)
I will be very careful while on the porch, but Gale is not winning this fight. I won’t remain inside. I am stronger than an eight-inch lizard.