Lizards: Daring or Disturbed?

Once upon a time, I was hit in the face by a 30 mph lizard. I know that may seem hard to believe, and in fact, it is not entirely true. But that's how it felt, and it is a delightful opening line.

In my apartment complex there are little lizards everywhere you look, in the grass, on the buildings, under bushes, and on the sidewalks, everywhere. Drawn by the year-round warmth, they flock to the Florida sun like snow-birds, but these cunning reptiles stay all year long.

At first I was fascinated by them. I would watch as they scurried from here to there, as they bounced their heads up and down, as they extended a membrane near their throat in some sort of mating dance, or struck a "don't mess with me" fighting pose. After a while I became annoyed at how they always ran in front of me on my way to the pool. Then one day the inevitable happened. I stepped on one. I felt remorseful as I reverently bent to lift its lifeless lizard body off of the sidewalk and place it gently in the bushes that it loved so much.

Okay, I felt bad as I brushed it aside with my sandal. But not as bad as I would have felt, had I been barefoot.

Then it hit me, literally. I was driving with my window open when a lizard that I hadn't seen flew off the rearview mirror and landed on my chest. I nearly wrecked the car. Instinctively I brushed it off. And there it sat, on the driver's seat, next to my leg, looking up at me with its big lizard eyes as if to question my motives for driving off before it could find safe refuge. When I got to the stoplight, I opened the car door and politely asked it to leave.

Well, I pushed it out into oncoming traffic with a rolled-up newspaper, but the details aren't important.

Then it hit me, figuratively: These are suicidal lizards.

Missing the natural apprehension of approaching winters, robbed of the angst of the Buffalo blizzards, or the biting winds of Chicago, these Floridian lizards seek to fill their anxiety gap by any means possible. Even suicide games -- much like the jackrabbits in Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing on The Campaign Trail."

The inspired lizard that leaps from a speeding car is the exception to the rule. Most of these thrill-seeking lizards choose the more pedestrian path, also known as a sidewalk.

It doesn't matter to the lizards if it's a herd of barefoot toddlers, or a 230 lb. klutz in size 13 waffle-stompers, they lie in wait for unsuspecting humans to stroll by. Then at the last possible moment, they race across the sidewalk as quickly as their little lizard legs will carry them.

The sidewalks are littered with the remains of lizard games gone awry.

And then there are the lucky ones. The incomplete lizards. The ones missing tails. The tails will grow back, but I wonder about their lust for the game. Will these half-tails race again? Will they dart out early so there is no real danger? Or will they risk it all to fulfill their longing for some excitement in their cold-blooded existence?

What gets your heart pumping?

Comments

[RobinP]

Lizard games gone awry?? You're killing me here. That is too funny. Florida does have some yucky things. I remember those freaky flying roaches, oh I am sorry you call them Palmettos? Those are just nasty things.

What used to get my heart pumping in Israel were those agile jumping spiders. One minute they are clear across the room. The next minute it is in your lap!! I could never run and scream fast enough!

[AGK]

Spiders. Having grown up in FL, lizards are not scary. It's the spiders. And it's the reason I don't live there anymore. One too many heart attacks - in home, outside, and yes, in the car. *Shudder*

[tim]

That is bloody hilarious!
I almost fell off my chair laughing!

[marc]

this is frikin hilarious. i loved this post and will have to come back to read more.

[fran]

Every day I hop around on the sidewalk trying to avoid the kamikaze lizards. It's like they wait for your foot to be in mid-step and then run right underneath it. It makes no sense. I stepped on one last night. It was just a matter of time before one of them got me.