TRAVEL MEMOIRS
My toxic trait is that I can’t not pet the animal
Growing up in Pennsylvania, my iguana experience has been relatively limited.
So, when my husband told me about how Iguanas roamed his undergraduate alma mater’s campus in Cali, Colombia, and hung out in trees, I was understandably intrigued by the concept of strolling across campus late for a math test and passing a wild iguana.
Even as an adult, one of my favorite outings is a trip to the zoo. As I began traveling, one of my favorite experiences has been seeing new and exotic animals in person, out and about in their natural habitats.
I’d peppered him with a million questions. Yes, the students feed them. No, they aren’t mean. But they will hit you with their tail, and it hurts. Mostly, the students just ignore them. Yes, they really climb trees. So, shortly after moving to Cali, we decided to visit his old stomping grounds.
He was excited to show me the campus, the backdrop of many of his stories. And, of course, to pay tribute to the wellspring of his genius, the physics building. And I was excited to finally see the Iguanas!
My husband hadn’t oversold the campus. It was an oasis in the middle of the city’s chaos. Its large, accessible buildings are wildly disbursed across a vast green space perfect for fútbol matches, picnic lunches, study sessions, cultural and artistic performances, and contemplating Nietzsche over a beer with friends.
As we approached a large pond dotted with ducks, geese, and turtles, my husband informed me this was where the iguana liked to hang.
I’d barely begun to scan the area when I spotted one of the massive lizards sunbathing on the bank, no more than four meters* from where we stood. (*12 feet. I may be American, but living abroad and marrying a scientist changes a person.)
And while I know it’s not mature or “respectful of nature,” I immediately exclaimed, “Can I pet it?!”
My husband’s “You can try” response came off as more of a warning than permission.
So, I followed up with a logical concern, “Will he bite?”
“Maybe,” he responded, reminding me he was more likely to hit me with his tail and that it would hurt.
The warning and lack of assurance I wouldn’t be bitten unnerved me but in no way deterred me from my ambition.
My husband already knew his warning wouldn’t dissuade me. So he watched from a distance, with his cousin who’d come with us, curious to see how the encounter would play out.
The tiny dinosaur watched me, seemingly entertained by my repeated cautious approaches and anxious retreats.
I took his attentive observance and failure to flee as an assurance he wouldn’t mind a quick pet. Once more, I approached, this time resolutely determined.
Wary of his massive tail, I decided a pat on the head was the safest option and approached slowly until I was finally within reach. Kneeling, I extended my hand toward him cautiously, as you would a strange dog in the park, asking permission and allowing a sniff before attempting a pet.
Unsure if dog protocol and lizard protocol were anything alike and unable to decipher non-verbal lizard communications, I went for it, quickly stroking the top of his head with my fingers.
Since Iguanas seemed generally enigmatic, it was difficult to decipher whether he’d enjoyed the pet or not. But he hadn’t flinched, run away, or swatted me with his tail. So I assumed he hadn’t disliked it and took a chance, giving him a few more strokes.
When he turned his head toward me slightly, I was quite certain I’d made a friend. Feeling accomplished, I again extended my hand, inviting a sniff or a lick.
Unfortunately, it was at this point I learned that Iguanas aren’t dogs.
It seems an iguana sees an outstretched hand as an offering of food. A fact I learned as he swiftly chomped down on my fingers.
Before this moment, I hadn’t been certain iguana had teeth. I’ve since learned that they, in fact, have small, sharp, serrated teeth particularly well-designed for tearing the flesh of fruits. But also useful for tearing the flesh of fingers.
Startled, I ran back to my husband, shouting, “He bit me!”
My husband’s sympathetic response was, “Well, what did you expect?”
We laughed hysterically as I attempted to explain my strange dog logic, and he wrapped my fingers, bleeding quite profusely, with a napkin.
The conversation logically progressed to theorizing what superpowers I could expect if this particular iguana had escaped the nearby science building.
Once the shock of the bite passed, I felt bad for running away. After all, the poor iguana was probably just confused and looking for a snack.
I gathered some fruits from the ground and again located the reptile sunbathing. I kept my distance this time, rolling the fruits to him one at a time and watching as he happily devoured them.
I am happy to report the fruit offering seemed to resolve the tension. Although I wasn’t brave enough to attempt another pet.
Unfortunately, even though my bite has healed to only a hint of a scar, my Iguana superpowers have yet to reveal themselves.
Thank you for reading.
BLEW WRITING LLC 