When I was young, the only household pets were dogs and cats and perhaps a goldfish or a budgie. And that was it.

But times changed and pets became exotic — monkeys, snakes, lizards. Our grandson has a lizard that is either a painted dragon or a bearded lady. Or perhaps a combination. It’s maybe a foot long — big enough that you wouldn’t like to meet it on a lonely street on a dark night.

However, this lizard is minor compared with the one that turned up in eastern Ontario this summer. A couple of men were driving along when they spotted a four-foot-long monitor lizard ambling along the highway. Realizing that this was not a normal happening, the men stopped and scooped it up and took it to shelter in a reptile zoo. The lizard was later reclaimed by its owner, who explained she had taken it for a walk and it had slid off into the woods for a couple of weeks. A happy ending.

(In case you are wondering, had I chanced upon a four-foot lizard, I would have cranked up the car windows and stepped on the gas.)

I am leery of large lizards. But when our son was young, he urged us to buy newts. So we picked up a couple and put them in a tank with some water and rocks and branches. Newts are small. How much trouble can they be?

Then, one spring day, we went to feed them and the tank was empty. Newt alert! A search turned up Newt Matt halfway down the stairs, heading for freedom. A little dusty but in fine fettle. We didn’t find his companion, Olivia Newton John, until six months later, when we were moving a piece of furniture. There she was, looking quite healthy but stiff as a board. We put her back in the tank just in case, but it turned out she was very dead. However, you never know.

Before we had newts, we had goldfish. One night, when my wife and I came home about 20 minutes after our 12-year-old daughter had let herself in, we found a note. It said: “The goldfish has escaped and I’m next door.” Presumably, to be safe from a fish attack.

My wife picked up the inert fish off the carpet and put it back in the bowl, where it floated upside down for a minute and then righted itself and swam about. It lived for another six months, although it had a disconcerting tendency to float upside down.

The pet that provided us with the most adventure was, not surprisingly, a dog. This was Augusta, a farm mutt we got as a puppy about 10 years ago. She had many escapades, but perhaps the most notable occurred just as she was growing out of puppyhood and weighing in at 60 pounds.

We had her at the cottage, and she liked to nose along the waterfront. We also had large plastic cranberry-juice jugs, with their openings enlarged, which we used for carrying water.

One summer day, I heard muffled barking. When I looked out, I saw Augusta had jammed her head into a plastic jug. Worse, she was walking out on the dock. As I watched, she fell off the end and, not knowing where she was going, she headed across the lake. I ran down to the dock, discarding clothing as I went (not a pretty sight), dove in and swam after the dog.

She was zigzagging in understandable confusion, so I caught up with her. But she was panting so rapidly that I couldn’t get the jug off with one hand. When I tried a grip with two, we sank. So, I called upon my 40-year-old lifeguarding skills and tried to flip her onto her back and haul her into shore. But angry and panicky 60-pound dogs don’t flip. So, I just grappled her to my bosom with one arm and headed for shore. Augusta scrabbled frantically with her paws, mostly getting me.

When we reached shallow water in a couple of minutes, I stood and yanked the cranberry-juice bottle off Augusta’s head and she swam to shore, where she was greeted with hugs and treats. Me,
I waded ashore with my chest and capacious stomach sporting a welter of dog scratches.

I felt quite noble that I had rescued the dog. But if you are wondering if I would do the same for a lizard, the answer is no. IE