St. Patrick's Lizard

I was watching the Babies prance about the backyard when a green lizard plopped onto the patio table.

"Good day, lassie!" he greeted me in a syrupy thick Irish accent. "Is it not a bonny morning?"

I raised my eyebrows. "A bonny morning?"

"Aye!" the lizard replied cheerfully, swinging a tiny mug my way. "Tis it not a wonderful day to celebrate St. Patrick, patron saint of us Irish Lizards, savior of"--

"Irish Lizards?" I repeated, trying to keep the giggle from my voice. The Babies heard me and came bouncing up to the porch. The lizard looked at them nervously, clutching his mug.

"Aye!" he replied, carefully stepping to the center of the table. "Could you call off ye hounds, please? They make a lad nervous."

I looked at the Babies and their frantic wagging tails as their noses sniffed the air. The lizard cleared his throat and tried to regain the shreds of his dignity.

"Anyway, lass, I was wondering if you could tell me where Sir Dan is," he continued, his accent becoming thicker with every word.

"Sir Dan?" I asked. "You mean my father?"

"Sir Dan, Prince of the Irish Lizards," the lizard clarified. "Surely, you've heard of him. Scaly green skin, bright yellow eyes, a tail longer than four cities."

"I'm afraid not," I said, scooping up the Babies and setting them in my lap. "I've never heard of a lizard named Sir Dan." The lizard back to the edge of the table, eyeing them as they licked the edge of the table.

"Can I pinch them?" he asked, eyeing their soft fuzzy paws. "They're not wearing green."

"No!" I scowled, drawing them closer to me. "Why do you need Sir Dan?"

"So I can be a true Irish lizard," the lizard said glumly. "I've always wanted to be an Irish Lizard. The legend says that only on St. Patrick's Day can a lizard be an Irish Lizard if he hears the magic words from Sir Dan."

"Ah," I said, my attention on wrangling the babies. "Why is being an Irish lizard better than a regular lizard?"

The lizard looked at me as if I was stupid. "Because they're Irish."

"Right," I said, still confused.

"Now I'll never be Irish," the lizard sighed, flopping over on the table. "I'm doomed to a life of boring accents and bugs instead of Shepard's pie."

"You could be a leprechaun," I suggested, letting Bitty gnaw the edge of my shirt. "You just need a little hat for that. And a pot of gold." The lizard sat up, his face beaming.

"Really?" he asked, his thin tail twitching in delight. "You think I could be a leprechaun?"

"Sure," I said, shrugging. "Why not? There's even a rainbow." I pointed to the faint colors in the sky. The lizard beamed and twirled on the table, holding his arms out. He plopped a green leaf on his head and scurried down the table leg, jumping off the porch and across the grass.

"I'm off to find my Lucky Flies!" he cried, scuttling into the distance. Rolling my eyes, I looked up at the rainbow in the distance. I almost expected to see a giant lizard hanging off of it.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!