As someone who co-raised two children who are now pleasant (if bored) teenagers, here is the shocking discovery about parenting a baby lizard: he’s fussier than the human babies ever were.
Life with Rhaegar the bearded dragon isn’t as Game-of-thrones primal as you might expect Scott Stinson
Many families have tried to counter pandemic- induced isolation by bringing a new dog or cat into their homes. We bought a dragon. Well, technically, a bearded dragon.
OK, a lizard.
And, as someone who coraised two children who are now pleasant ( if bored) teenagers, here is the shocking discovery about parenting a baby lizard: he’s fussier than the human babies ever were.
I am not exaggerating for comedic effect. Rhaegar, who is named for a Game of Thrones character — of the House that was very pro-dragon, naturally — has been in our home for about two months. It has been a challenge to get him to eat, which seems contrary to everything I have known about literally every other kind of pet. Dogs will eat anything put in front of them and many things that are not: shoes, boxes, aluminum foil, their own poop. Cats aren’t quite as single- minded, but my parents have one of those auto-dispensing food bowls and the cat has figured out that she can jam her paw up the chute and poke out a few extra bits. She wants more than is offered. Even fish can be reliably counted upon to be jolted from their floating stupor when you sprinkle some food flakes in their water. It is the absolute highlight of their day.
I assumed it would be the same with a lizard. It’s a basic creature, a throwback to an earlier time when all that mattered to humans was building fires and finding food and not getting stepped on by a giant animal. The term “lizard brain” was even coined to denote this focus on base instincts like food and shelter and reproduction.
But Rhaegar is unfortunately a lizard who is somehow attuned to modern life, where people take those earlier primal needs for granted. He’s worried about carbs, maybe. Or he’s not sure if crickets are OK on his new keto diet. He might be practising intermittent fasting. Honestly, it feels like sometimes — most of the time, really — he just cannot be arsed to eat.
When our dragon was procured from the pet store, we were told that he might take a few days to adjust to the stress of the move, but that he would get comfortable in his new terrarium and then start pounding down crickets just as soon as we plunked them in front of him. He ignored them for days, but eventually scarfed one down. Success! For about a month, he would eat one or two a day. When the crickets went in to his abode, he would glance at them and tilt his head to the side, looking askance: “What’s this? A small bug of some sort? Why, how interesting!” Then he would scoot over and eat one. Then he stopped eating crickets altogether.
Rhaeger spends most of his life on his tree, which we have named Westeros. The highest branch is Winterfell, the one under the heat lamp is King’s Landing, the branch with fake flora is Highgarden. (Hey, we are bored, give us this.)
Suddenly, he would give his surprised look at the arrival of crickets, side- eye them for a bit from up on King’s Landing, and then refuse to come down. This went on for days. Crickets are, admittedly, quick little fellers, and they would be a bit of a pain to try to eat. They can scoot. Maybe Rhaegar decided it was too much effort.
We, being modern parents, accommodated him. We bought worms. Nice, slow, blind, worms. They were a hit. Rheager would jump down from Westeros and eat one or two at a go. ( Side note: Surprisingly crunchy!)
The internet tells us this is still not very much for a baby lizard. Five or 10 crickets is normal, and certainly more than a worm a day. And the thrill of the worms seems to have worn off. Rhaegar went a few days without eating over the holidays, and we were back to wondering how we had the world’s pickiest lizard. He barely touches greens, won’t even look at dried food — it has to move for him to even consider it — and will instead spend hours moving from one branch to another while occasionally peering quizzically at a worm and then closing his eyes and pretending it’s not there. He’s like Smaug, the dragon from The Hobbitt, lazing about on his pile of gold and riches all day, minus the gold and riches. (And also minus the Hobbit.)
Honestly, man. You are a lizard. How about you show off some prehistoric desire to live, just a little?
The good news is that he has finished his Christmas fast and is back to eating, a little. He has a worm most days. We wonder if we should try crickets again. Perhaps they would be suddenly exotic, like switching to shiraz after you’ve finished the box of cabernet sauvignon. (So I’m told.) But the pet store isn’t the easiest place to access these days. And we have what must be a month’s supply of worms.
So, for Rhaegar, a threemonth supply.