Sightings Part II: Lizard Dude to the Rescue

Giant Iguana Amadeus

When last we saw our Giant Street Lizards, Iguana II had made it to the street with Iguana I somewhere behind. Meanwhile, Michael and I were beginning to regain our composure as traffic slowed to a crawl, and ultimately a stop.

"What do we do? Who do we call?" I pulled out my cell phone and looked at it as if it would answer me by immediately calling someone. Less than a block away was the 254-bed Lovelace Medical Center. It had an ER, I knew. "No, dummy. There's no veterinarian there. They can't help, " I told myself. I looked at my phone again. "911? Is this a real emergency? I don't think so. Animal control? Hell if I know the number," I said aloud.

Michael got around in front of Iguana II and it stopped before crossing the street. Our three-legged Iguana, still struggling to catch up was trying to get over a fallen fence post.

Suddenly, a voice came from behind me. "There you are! Time to come home, boys."

I turned around and saw a young, respectable-looking fellow walking slowly towards us. "These are yours, I guess," Michael said. "Do you want to get this one before he gets run over?"

"Oh, he's alright. That's Amadeus. He likes to pretend to get away every now and then."

"These are really yours?" I asked. "Where do they live?"

"Over here under the stairs," he pointed to the house next door. "They usually don't get this far."

Michael and I looked at one another and then back at the newcomer as he leaned over and picked up the three-legged iguana. It immediately began to struggle. It's claws grasping at the air as he was lifted by his mid-section. At this point I named him "Lizard Dude." The man placed the giant lizard on his left shoulder and headed toward Amadeus, who was having none of being captured. With amazing agility, the four-legged creature was off down the sidewalk. Michael briefly lunged for it, but was too late.

Lizard Dude dropped Iguana I and ran after Amadeus. Within seconds, they were down the street and around the corner where screeching tires could be heard. We waited, along with Iguana I, while Dude slowly returned with an out-of-breath four-foot lizard clinging and scratching on his right shoulder. He said nothing, but leaned over and picked up Iguana I and started toward next door.

Again, Michael and I looked at one another. "What the . . ." was all that came out of our mouths. Slowly, uncomfortably, we went back inside and back to work. For the rest of the day all we could think or talk about was that we had just visited the Twilight Zone and somehow made it back. That night when we told our friends and family, they laughed. Some of them wondered if we weren't having some type of group hallucination. I even wondered a little.

Wondered, that is, until the next day when I saw Lizard Dude outside walking around our job site with a ladder. "Wonder what he's up to?" I said to Michael. "The lizard guy is out there with a ladder." Just as a I said it, we heard the ladder hit the side of our house. We made our way outside in time to find the neighbor halfway up the ladder.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Have you seen my boys?" he asked.

"You mean the lizards?" Michael responded.

"Yea."

"No, not since yesterday."

"Well, I think their up on your roof here. Mind if I check?"

"Guess not. How would they get up there? It's at least 20 feet straight up the walls."

"Oh, they've been up here before," he said as he disappeared over the roof line.

We waited a few minutes and Lizard Dude finally came back to the ladder and crawled down. "Not there. Oh, well. I guess I'll just leave some lettuce down here in case they show up."

"You mean they're loose again?" Michael asked.

"Yea, but they'll show up eventually," he said as he took himself and his ladder back to the house next door.

"Need any help?" I asked.

"Nope," he said as he disappeared around the corner.

That was it. He was gone. We never saw Lizard Dude or the lizards again. Although we hoped for the best and wanted to help, he didn't seem to want any. Besides, there are times you have to seriously ask yourself: does that person need the type of help that I can offer? For us, the answer was an emphatic, "No." We hoped Lizard Dude found Amadeus and Iguana I. But we knew that our time in this particular Twilight Zone was over. We hope they all found the help they needed that day.

Sightings Part I: Giant Street Lizards

As I Panic: Iguana II

I mentioned in my Introduction that Albuquerque is the most remote city of its size in the United States. We're hundreds of miles from any other metro area in the country. It means that things can get pretty weird here. Of course, anywhere with half a million people is going to have its share of strangeness, but out here the strangeness has been kicked up a few notches beyond anywhere I've ever been.

No one can accuse me of having a boring life. Adventure sports, like white water rafting or back country hiking are a couple of things that come to mind. Lots of people do those things, though.

Oddly, one type of activity has brought its fair share of excitement to my life of late: flipping houses. That's right, flipping houses. You know, fixing up a fixer-upper and selling it for a profit. You're no doubt asking yourself what this has to do with the title of the piece. Here goes:

My partner, Michael and I have been working all morning scraping and painting inside an old house at the corner of two major streets in downtown Albuquerque: Edith and Martin Luther King. The day is starting to warm up and the A/C isn't working in the house yet. We step out the back door to stand in the shade for a quick break.

As always, I first look up to the sky. It's truly awesome out here. White puffy clouds float in the azure blue background. Can't get enough of it.

Then my eye is attracted to movement on the ground just in front of us. They're large, they're grey, they're scaly and they have huge "skin-beard" things.

"Oh, look at the lizards," I say nonchalantly.

For a moment, I'm somewhere else. The zoo, perhaps. Or maybe I'm lost in the middle of the Mojave desert. Bizarre subconscious thoughts of Darwin on the Galapagos Islands flash and disappear. I lose my breath.

"Oh, my God, look at the freaking lizards!" I scream. "Look at . . ."

"No, way!" Michael shouts.

I recoil. I gasp. My eyes are the size of golf balls. I'm stunned for a moment.

There they were: two four-foot long IGUANAS trundling along from left to right in my field of vision. It takes a few seconds for my mind to process what it sees. I mean, our entire ability to understand anything is based upon what we've seen, heard, experienced before, right? So what does the mind do when it sees two huge lizards walking across the backyard toward a major street in the middle of the city?

"Let's get closer!" I hear Michael say. We make our first move towards them.

The lizards see us. They seem to glance at one another for a moment. Then, without a word, they quicken their pace. They're making a break for it across the yard. The street and sidewalk are only 20 feet away now. They're trying to get away from someone or something. Is it us? Are they escaping from somewhere? That must be it, I think.

It's only then that I realize that one of them is injured. It's limping, I think. Is that what a four-legged creature does? Daredevil me quickly approaches them. Wild animals that they are, they start moving faster. The injured one (Iguana I) trails behind the other (Iguana II), who by this time has made it to the broken-down fence at the edge of the yard. A few feet away is a busy four-lane city street.

As I get within a few feet of Iguana I, it's problem becomes clear. It's only got three legs! It's right front leg is gone. An old wound, though. Not new at all. Sanity begins to return. These lizards belong to someone. "An iguana in the wild would not be in such great shape as this one if it were missing a front leg," I think.

Iguana II is out to the street now. Traffic is beginning to slow. Cars are creeping by. It's hard to decide what to do. I look at the cars. Inside them I see people with expressions that must mirror my own. Amazement. Amusement. Astonishment. We're all spectators to an event from the Twilight Zone.

Headlines flash in my mind's eye: "Giant Lizards Escape, Tie Up City Traffic for Hours," "Iguanas Make a Break For It, Die Trying," and "2 Dead, Scores Injured in Worst Iguana Incident in City's History."

I fear the worst. The melodramatic scenes ignite in my imagination: Will Iguana II stop before he gets hit or causes an accident? Will Iguana I catch up in time? Can tragedy be averted?

Tune in next time as the tale of the Giant Street Lizards of Albuquerque concludes. . .