Dusting the hutch in my kitchen, I noticed a tiny black pellet on the shelf beside it.
Gecko dropping, I thought. There must be a baby gecko.
There are lots of geckos here in the Desert Southwest. More than once, I’d spotted one of the small yellow lizards clinging to the outside of my windows. They also turned up inside the house. High up on a wall in the living room. Or in the shower. I’d gotten into the habit of checking the oven and dishwasher before I would turn them on. I didn’t want one of the little guys to get hurt.
The biggest danger for a gecko inside a home wasn’t the oven or the dishwasher, though. It was starvation. A gecko trapped in a house wouldn’t find enough bugs to eat. I didn’t want that to happen to my current visitor. But to save him, I had to find him first. And that would be tough. I’ve encountered baby geckos only about an inch and a half long, from nose to tail.
I searched all the kitchen’s nooks and crannies, along the shelf and on the hutch. I checked the walls and the ceiling. Then the windowsill and underneath all the furniture. I’ll never find him, I thought. Not without help.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen and closed my eyes. God, I asked silently, show me where the gecko is.
A picture flashed in my mind immediately: a pile of stones. “I know where that is!” I said. I rushed back to the windowsill. I’d already checked the sill, but I hadn’t looked in the small basket that sat on it, where I kept my collection of oddly shaped or uniquely colored stones that caught my eye. Ever so carefully, I removed one stone, then another—until I spotted a tiny yellow tail!
I brought the whole basket outside and left it on the ground, where I hoped the baby gecko could find his way home. When I checked a few hours later, the little lizard was gone.
I still peek inside the dishwasher and the oven before turning them on. But it helps to know I’m not the only one looking out for geckos. No creature is too small for God to love.
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