One of the things I have loved most about living in the south—next month marks my seventeenth year in the Sunshine State—is the variety of beautiful and amazing wildlife.

There are many animal species I enjoy. But even from the first day in Florida, my favourite has always been the lizard.

I have a memory of sitting inside a Wendy's restaurant either immediately preceding or following my move from New York, watching in amazement as the lizards scurried around in the bushes planted just the other side of the arched glass.

Through the years, the inevitable close encounters occur and from those experiences I have always gained a new respect. After all, nothing is more exciting than coming home to a small snake sitting comfortably on the carpet. Or wondering what your cat is chasing around the bedroom in the middle of the night. Rescuing lizards is just another part of the day.

During my year in Tallahassee—can you believe that?!—I have noticed the lizards are not as abundant here. I still see them regularly during the appropriate seasons, but compared to central Florida the population here is minor.

Perhaps with so much rural land nearby, they are not forced into cohabitation with humans as often. Whatever the reason, I learned yesterday the population is sufficient enough still for a close encounter.

Driving between work buildings in an Agency car, my eyes panned down slightly to notice a Green Anole (Anolis carolinensis) looking back at me through the glass, hanging on to the windshield wiper for dear life.

I hoped he could stay put for just a few moments longer. Soon enough I turned into the first driveway I came upon and quickly exited the vehicle.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed aloud at the sight of a lizard-free windshield wiper. The surrounding area showed no signs of him either. "Shit."

I sighed and started to get back into the car when I saw him staring back at me from the roof, right above the driver doorway. My attempts to coax the poor guy into my hands were futile, but at the same time he could have very easily scurried away but did not.

I like to think this was so because some way, some how he knew I was not a threat, or even understood I was there to help. I know intellectually this is not possible, but there is no denying the fantastic power of animal instincts.

The rescue plan failing, I decided to try a new approach. I leaned up against the body of the car and placed my shoulder next to the lizard. Then with my hand I gave him a gentle poke.

There should have been a spring sound effect when he jumped onto my shoulder and quickly scampered to the top of my head. Walking lightly I approached the nearby grass and proceeded to bow. He jumped off into the grass and sat there looking back up at me before cautiously walking away to explore the new and unfamiliar surroundings.

As I continued my drive I hoped that the little lizard would adapt easily to his new environment, 1.7 miles northwest of his previous home.

And while in the grand scheme of the universe it might not mean a whole lot, I felt an enormous wave of satisfaction over having saved this lizard from certain death.

I know it made a difference to me. And to him as well.