Tony the Lizard

When my son was about ten, talk turned to pets. I had always had them, so I sided with him against his mother. She was adamant, as she saw them as only another producer of her sworn enemy, mess.

However, she finally agreed to a “low impact” pet, providing Aaron hit academic goals that she set somewhere in the stratosphere. Aaron set out with tongue-jutting determination and exceeded them.

Pet store day. Aaron ran from aisle to aisle, wanting one of each. His mother consulted the clerk about which animals threw off the least byproduct and odor. We settled on a basilisk lizard. I bought a terrarium and asked for a box of lizard food that would last a month. I didn’t want to make a lot of trips.

The acne-plagued clerk grinned. “You can’t get a month’s worth of food,” he said, as though surprised to find an idiot in the room. “They eat live crickets.”

Oh c’mon. You’re locked up in a glass box and you can afford to be picky about food? You wouldn’t eat anything that drops to the floor of the terrarium? Apparently not. Lizards are stalwart gourmets.

So, we get everything home, including a carton of crawling bugs. We set it up and begin flipping through a book about pet lizards. I start to tell Aaron how frequently he’d have to feed his charge and clean the abode. But, his mother interjects that he will do neither. She’s not risking crickets and/or the lizard making an escape. I wanted this, so it was my job. So there.

Aaron christened the lizard Tony. I had had a fraternity brother from Brooklyn named Tony. Yeah, I could see it.

The first night was an eye-opener. Literally. Lizards are quiet, but what do crickets do on warm summer nights? They chirp! Why didn’t I think of that?

Feeding consisted of whipping off the top screen, dumping the carton of crickets and slamming down the top before anything could escape. Not too bad.

Cleaning was another story, and the book stressed the importance of it. It involved capturing Tony, securing him in a shoe box, and then returning him after the process. Easier said then done. You would think Tony would be grateful for all the services he received. But, you would not be a lizard.

The little bastard would sink his sharp, little teeth into my flesh at every opportunity. And, he was fast, so there were plenty of opportunities.

The months wore on, with Tony enjoying teething on me and the crickets serenading nightly. But, it was all for my son.

One day, he came to me and said something was wrong with Tony. He was listless. A listless lizard? How could you tell? It wasn’t like he was constantly cartwheeling around the terrarium. But, Aaron knew.

We went to Aaron’s room. Tony was motionless and even I could tell he didn’t look like his usual nasty self. Aaron looked up to me with pleading eyes. “Dad, you can fix him, can’t you?” Not too many options there.

I called the vet. He said that by the time you could tell a lizard was sick, it was probably too late. I said that he had to come up with something. My son was depending on me. He said the lizard probably had what could best be described as a severe and fatal case of constipation.

Okay. How about some Mexican food? He described one possible solution that involved Tony’s anus and something I wouldn’t even do with Julia Roberts.

I asked for an alternative. He said I could fill a pan with warm water and try soaking Tony in it. That sounded doable.

I put some water in a pan and we all went upstairs. Tony looked even more droopy, so I was a little careless grabbing him. Don’t you know the son of a bitch could summon up the energy to suddenly clamp his jaws onto my thumb? I screamed and pulled back my arm, momentarily contemplating slinging him up against the wall. My eyes met with Aaron’s. I mustered a grim smile.

I set him down in the pan. Aaron protested. “Don’t, Dad. He’ll drown!”

“No, his nose is above water.”

Aaron began crying. “Please don’t, Dad.”

Tony squirmed a little and produced a small stool sample. “See, Aaron, that’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Tony gave three quick, body-wrenching jerks and went stiff. We looked at him for a few seconds. I prodded him. Nothing. I put my thumb, his favorite treat, right in front of his mouth. Nothing.

“You killed Tony!,” wailed Aaron and buried his face in his mother’s thighs. She glared at me.

Few things in life are more difficult than failing your children. Not even the elaborate funeral I orchestrated helped much. Children are resilient, and Aaron recovered and appeared to forgive me. But, I made every effort to never let down my kids again. Ever.