En garde ...

Look people, I am mostly a live and let live sort of person, but there are times when I become a vicious killer.  If you live in America, you probably understand that frequent pest control, otherwise known as exterminating services, is considered a cultural must.  While I too enjoy a pest free living environment, I also enjoy a pesticide free home.  So, I forgo the monthly exterminating service, and only call in the big guns when faced with an emergency, such as when two teenaged raccoons camped out in my chimney for a long weekend and left in their wake an insufferable flea infestation in the chimney and subsequently my home.  Most of the time, I happily share my space with a few spiders and ladybugs.  See, here's a ladybug making herself (or himself -- who can know the difference?) temporarily at home among my reference books ...

However, I draw the line at roaches, ants, lizards, wasps, etc.  I have different methods of dealing with these pests, only one of which is humane.  Some meet their fate under the sole of a shoe, the crush of my finger, the blow of the broom or by being doused with spray.  The lizard is the only lucky one, because I can't bring myself to crush it or touch it.  The lizard receives extra attention and a free ride out into the yard via a jar or someone besides me who carries it outside.  I say none of this with pride.  I may be a killer, but I have a conscience.  I feel bad for most of these creatures, but my home isn't big enough for them and me, and they won't leave when I ask them to get out.  So, it's either them or me.   I'm just curious what one does with the twinge of guilt that pricks the conscience when one kills something that small.