‘How to Train your (Bearded) Dragon’
Over the years we have inherited multiple pets from my niece, a would-be veterinarian and animal- lover. The aged turtle, Harry Mullins, was a big hit with the children, his leathery face a familiar sight in the pond, his speed increasing as he escaped into the damp grass.
Alas, the Venerable Beard died after a week in our home.
He was old, hence the ‘venerable’, but the children cried at the shock of his deflated, scaled body after only a few days in the new vivarium. We surmised that the rehoming journey in a cat basket was not perhaps the best mode of transport for a ‘beardie’. It was typical of our bookish household that his name was inspired by the Anglo-Saxon author of The Ecclesiastical history of the English-Speaking People (AD 731). Pun intended.
So, when the chance came for another bearded dragon to join our family, I reluctantly said yes: knowing that recycled pets are a risk and that parenting decisions never turn out quite as planned. Saphira though, seemed docile and friendly, happy to be handled, and young enough to provide entertainment for a few months (or even years) longer than the Venerable Beard.
I underestimated the complexities of feeding her though, and when it arrived the Amazon package squeaked and rustled in a sinister manner. Over the years I have received many packages but none, thus far, has moved. Something about which I feel glad. In hindsight, it was predictable that the contents would escape and range through the house.
One morning, before coffee I encountered a pair of steely compound eyes in the bathroom. Large, yellow and menacing the locust regarded me steadily before leaping to an unknown location.
It was followed by several more large locusts (did I mention that they are large?), as I barked for a child to secure the insects – fast.
Then there was the exercising of the dragon.
Yes, I know they are reptiles but being handled regularly seems to spoil the animals… Saphira nowexpects a daily ‘walk’ in the garden where she can feel the sun on her skin and warm her cold blood.She dislikes washing on the washing line as it flaps like threatening predators, such as birds, making her engorge her ‘beard’ to appear larger and more fierce. Seeing her lay broad and still on the grass is a moving experience, reptiles are not known for their emotional displays but she looks free and happy.
When she dashes off like a lightning streak it is a surprise.
Any animal that immobile appears incapable of swift movement.
Saphira is an Olympic-level sprinter.
Of course I was left to keep an eye on her when this first happened, while the boy was cleaning the vivarium from Greenish poo with the consistency of spinach (yes, really). Saphira was grouchy as she was shedding her scales and as she disappeared into the garage I scrambled after her, convinced there would be tears once again as the beloved pet departed this life. A State funeral would follow, hymns and an oration, and burial in hard ground or a funeral pyre complete with Viking wailing. No one tells you about any of this when you become a parent.
I caught up with Saphira in a dark and cosy corner full of spiders and she was less than impressed at being re-captured. The stiff neck spikes of a bearded dragon are sharp when inflated, Saphira can choose whether to render them sharp or soft, and these were the sharp spikes of a peeved animal accenting freedom – and food.
Since then we have all calmed down. After all, in lockdown we are all captured animals in our own cages. I no longer cringe at the scratchy sounds of the locusts in packets, and Saphira always makes a break for it when outside in the sunshine. We are ready with dandelion leaves to entice her back and everyone feels an odd affection for this new member of the family.
The question is, has the dragon trained us rather than the other way around?
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