Just back from the synagogue, shofar still blowing in my mind, I reach down to pick up Dusty's chew toy, planted in the corner of the family room, and get a little surprise. I'm on the phone when I make my discovery. "Oh, my God, Carla." "What's wrong?" she says. "There's a lizard in my house." "A lizard?" "It's just sitting there, trying to blend in." "Oh, no." "You're the hiker. What should I do?" "Tell it to leave." I look at the lizard, open the back door, and say, "Get the hell out of my house, you mutha@#$%'er!" So much for my Jewish New Year's resolution not to swear so much. "Did he leave?" Carla asks. "No. It's going to take more than verbal abuse." "Are there any menfolk around?" "I don't need the menfolk. I'm the SJG. I'm going to handle this sh*t myself. I'll call you right back." Click. I sneak up on the lizard and lower the plastic container of shame. Gotcha! For all of two seconds. Then the little bastard escapes. I call Carla back. "Well, that didn't go too well." "What happened?" "He's under the sofa, staring at me." "Tell him it's rude to stare." "Listen, you rude little son of a -- oh, wait, he crawled out. That's it, Mister." This time, I get him. Carla shares my joy. "Yay!" I slide him right out the door. "And he's out!" I do my standard victory dance, as Carla channels Heidi Klum, accent and all. "One day you're in, and the next you're out. Auf wiedersehen! Kiss, kiss!" "Keep in touch," I tell the lizard. But I don't really mean it. So much for my second resolution to be kind to strangers.