THE LIZARD KING

I have a lady friend I call P.C. ( no, the initials don't stand for personal computer or politically correct) who enjoys keeping exotic pets. At one time she was the proud caretaker of a Golden Marmoset, a boa constrictor, and a skunk. I don't think you can get much more exotic than that. She later developed an interest in lizards. I expected  her first acquisition to be something prosaic, like a baby green iguana. But she brought home an adult water monitor. Native to southeast Asia, they grow to an enormous size. Hers measured seven feet in length and weighed about 50 pounds. Fortunately, the former owner raised it from a hatchling and obviously lavished it with attention because it was dog-tame. "Baby" was housed in a small room with adjoining bath in the basement. Space heaters supplied warmth and florescent tubes, designed for reptiles, provided the light spectrum required to keep lizards healthy in captivity. Baby soon accepted the new environment and spent much of his time soaking in the bath tub. Food, in the form of frozen-thawed rats, chicken laced with vitamins and minerals, and occasionally eggs and fish, was eagerly taken. P.C. interacted with her pet daily, and the two creatures bonded. In fact, the lizard became quite possessive of the woman. I remember a time when I walked past the two of them too closely. Baby produced a threatening hiss and struck me with his tail. Startled, I retreated and examined the welt on my leg. My approach never elicited an aggressive response when Baby was alone.

Panic erupted one fine summer day when P.C. discovered her reptilian friend missing. Somehow, the beast opened the door to his room, navigated the basement, and escaped. A thorough search of the yard and surrounding area produced only a couple of indignant toads and a nervous mouse. The Lizard King was on the loose. A water monitor's behavior changes dramatically when it is outdoors. Survival instincts take command. If approached, it will attempt to flee. If cornered, it will lash out with its tail and bite. Given Baby's size and newly acquired attitude, we were concerned for neighborhood pets and curious children. Days passed with no sign of the escapee but we did get reports of sightings. Knowing water monitor habits and remembering a stream in a wooded area about a hundred yards from P.C.'s house, a plan was formulated. On the stream bank a stake with a piece of chicken tied to it was hammered into the ground. Now we had to wait and see if the big lizard would come to the bait. Several times a day I crept quietly to the trap site. Never have I felt more like Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter. My patience was rewarded one morning, when, as I approached the stream, I saw Baby chewing on the chicken we had staked down. Rushing through the vegetation, I pounced on my quarry. A tough struggle ensued but I avoided claws and teeth and prevailed in the encounter. My opponent scored a few points with his tail, however. I wrapped the thrashing reptile in an old blanket and carried him home. Looking a little sheepish, he slipped into his tub. The door was fitted with a lock and the escape route secured. Lizard and neighborhood could relax.