I carried the blue canvas stadium chair to the beach and planted it in the deep, white sand. A baby lizard lay in the seat. My husband, Rick, flipped it out with his hand and turned around to set up his chair. Tail and all, the tiny creature measured only one to one-and-a-half inches. It writhed in the grained earth. Bright sunshine lit up the spring day, but the shore felt chilly to my bare feet. He must be cold. I stared at the lizard. His little arms and legs so thin; his fingers, like short pieces of thread, wiggled frantically. “Now you’ve done it.” Rick sat down. “He can’t travel on the beach,” I said. Rick stood. Using his foot, he scooped up a large amount of sand with the lizard atop it. He took several steps, and the sand filtered to the ground, so he flicked off the lizard and repeated the process. At first the little reptile squirmed as though he tried to escape. But after a while lay very still while Rick moved him. At last Ri
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