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The Short Life and Death of George

Camping_grill

The months of April and May have been traveling months for the family Fiddle.  One of our adventures involved a 7 night/ 8 day camping trip to Fort Wilderness at Disney World.  Our longest camping experience to date had been 3 or 4 nights, so we threw caution to the wind and doubled down.

The memorable experiences were numerable.  And will be forthcoming, as my personal blogging exile as hopefully come to an end.

As per usual, camping is an opportunity for Jensen to hunt and capture wildlife, particularly lizards.  From sun up to sun down.  In lieu of a proper lizard habitat, Jensen turns the provided Disney camp grill which each site comes equipped with, into a lizard jail.

I always feel that I should leave a note of apology on each grill whenever we vacate a site.  Because people, you know, actually cook FOOD on grills.

On our day of arrival, while the rest of his family slaved over the camp set-up, Jensen caught his first lizard, which he promptly named George.  He marched around the camping loop introducing George to anyone who even looked remotely interested.  After George was properly shown off, Jensen made a home for him in the grill.

The next morning, much to everyone’s surprise/chagrin, George was still there.  Jensen took this as a sign that George loved Jensen as much as Jensen loved George.  The morning progressed.  Then as we were sitting around eating a leisurely lunch, Cailey noticed, “Oh my gosh, look Jensen!  A bird just ate your lizard!”  Jensen jumped out of his camping chair in time to see a large blackbird fly up into a tree with George in his beak.

Jensen was mortified.  He stood at the base of the tree yelling up at the blackbird, first in anger, then in a pleading voice, “PLEASE, stupid bird, just let go of George!”

The bird complied, and dropped George at Jensen’s feet.  Well.  Parts of George.  And not necessarily the best parts.

Jensen stood staring down at the pieces of his former friend.  Sobbing.  Then after a suitable time of loud mourning and gnashing of teeth, say, 10 to 15 minutes, he looked back up at the bird, who sat watching the spectacle from the safety of a high branch, threatening to commit murder.

I’m pretty sure that by this time Disney Parks and Wildlife security had stationed extra patrols in our camping loop.

Eventually Jensen moved on to other local lizard life, and then “David” took up residence in the grill.  Which Jensen had rendered bird proof.

Later that night I visited the community bathroom (cleaner than my own, I might add) and while I was in my own personal stall, I overheard two women chuckling about a little boy they had met earlier and how he was walking up to little girls to see if they wanted to hold a lizard named George.

From the sanctity of my stall, I told them that the lizard whisperer in question was my son, and then I told them of George’s untimely demise.   In gruesome detail.  There was a respectful moment of silence.  And then I was left alone in the bathroom.

My master plan.

Rest in pieces, George.  You were a good and faithful temporary pet.

DeeDeeSig

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