Sometimes, you just have to lie

Yesterday, as we were wrapping up a fire drill, one of my students looked at me, concern evident in his face, and asked, "Mrs. S, if we have a real fire, what would you do about Squirt?" (Squirt is our class pet, a leopard gecko.)

Well. I mean, the truth is that if there is a real fire, obviously my concern is for the safety of my students. And myself. I seriously doubt I will think about Squirt in that moment. Not that I don't think Squirt is awesome, and cute, but he's not a kid. I debated internally about whether or not to go with the truth but when I looked at his little face, all freckles and red hair, his blue eyes squinting at me, concern written across his forhead, I just couldn't do it.

"S, if there is a real fire, I'll grab her tank and run with it." I said. He smiled happily at me, his world returned to order and got back in line.

Of course, the students nearby then had a lengthy debate about whether I should grab the cage, or just grab the log that Squirt often hides in. And then we had to have a chat about what would happen if I did grab the log and Squirt started to come out of the log. S didn't participate in any of this conversation; he had his answer and he was content.
And I didn't feel the slightest guilt over that lie.