Leapin’ Lizards

He stared at me from the edge of the porch, watching every move I made. Like a miniature pre-historic monster, that lizard seemed as curious about me as I was about him.

Perhaps he thought I was “prey.” If I’m to assign human qualities to a reptile, I’m sure he had an enormous ego. From the way he sauntered across my porch, it was obvious he thought he was “king of the hill.” I tried not to stare straight at him — to appear uninterested. He inched closer to me and blinked.

Then, perhaps to amuse me, he did “pushups” on the porch. Or, maybe that was his preparation for a pounce? A moth distracted him; the lizard followed his meal and was gone.

That lizard and his cousins are always the first signs of spring. I must admit that I’ve never seen them “leap,” but they crawl everywhere on my property. Because I put no poisons in my yard, critters flourish there. I’ve seen more than six types of lizards in my garden and in my house. Don’t get technical on me because I’m lumping lizards, salamanders, and geckos in one category. I forget my Biology, and I’m the one telling this story.

I must admit, however, that the little reptiles I find in my house are difficult to identify once the cats are finished “playing” with them. My cats are mighty hunters, but they only threaten those lizards foolish enough to come inside. Although I’m always alarmed and saddened to find the “remains” — especially the still twitching tails — I can only assume it is Darwin’s theory in action. “Survival of the fittest,” indeed. If those lizards don’t have the brains to stay away from five cats, they probably need to be removed from the gene pool.

I even give those critters names. The lizard you see here has a grand-daddy who is as long as my forearm. His name is “Godzilla.” There is one who hangs out on our bathroom window at night to eat the bugs. His name is “Fenster,” which my husband says means “window” in German.

The last few weeks I find that those lizard friends of mine are threatened by another predator who has arrived on the scene. Actually, it is a pair of predators. Two chaparrals (roadrunners) have discovered that my yard is easy pickings.

They sit on my roof in the sun and “pose” for me when I don’t have a camera. However, if I sneak inside to get that camera with intent to shoot their picture, the only view I see of those roadrunners is their backside, tail feathers held high, as they dash across the lawn to the safety of the underbrush.

The female roadrunner peeks furtively through the window of my office occasionally. Perhaps she wants to watch me, or perhaps she knows I don’t aprrove of her harvesting my reptilian friends. I haven’t seen a lizard in my yard since the roadrunners moved into the neighborhood.

I’m hoping the lizards are all just smart enough to hide. Maybe the roadrunners will give up and go away. I miss seeing the lizards. At least they would let me watch them, but those roadrunners won’t stand still for it. The only consolation I have is that I haven’t seen a single coyote this entire spring. Do you reckon that the old cartoons with roadrunner and coyote had any basis in fact?

Other posts you might enjoy:

1. What Would You Put In A Time Capsule?
2. We Call Him Fenster
3. “We Thought You Was A Toad!”
4. Only The Good. An Aloof Visitor.
5. Only The Good—The Unkempt Yard

Tagged as: Critters, Storytelling