As promised, a happy post.
A couple of days ago, at around ten AM PST (which is early for me), Missy Cat and I went out to the back garden for a putter. Next to the compost box I found a plastic quart cottage cheese container (I use them to bring out vegetable scraps to the box) about a quarter full of water. There was a Western fence lizard inside, completely motionless. He didn’t even move when I put my hand in.
A couple of hours earlier, Bob Cat had gone out to refresh the bird bath and found ice on top. (Do we need a bird bath heater? In San Diego County?) So I feared the worst as I reached into the icy water. But the lizard flexed its claws - just barely - as my hand closed around him. I rushed him inside, chasing Missy back into the house as I went. (An adult Western fence lizard is typically 21 cm, or 8 inches, long.)
In the kitchen, I ran some warm water into a bowl and eased the little guy in, keeping his head above water. From time to time I lifted him out. He gradually began to move his arms and legs and tail, although he was still cold and dazed. I changed the water a few times to keep it warm.
His eyes were still closed, so I dabbled a little warm water over his head. All at once, his eyes opened and he jumped out of my hand really fast and tried to get the hell out of the sink. Fortunately it was wet and all he could do was run in place, his tail wriggling like a snake’s. Thank goodness for that, because I did not want to have to chase him all over the house, trying to evade Missy and get him out from under the fridge or the stove or who knows where. It was hard enough to get a good hold on him while laughing so hard.
Finally I got him safely in my hand. It took a few seconds, since I was trying not to grasp his tail firmly enough for him to drop it. A Western fence lizard, like many other lizards, stores fat in its tail, and although detaching the tail (which keeps wriggling as the lizard runs away) can save it from a predator, losing it can affect its chance of survival later on (according to a study I read about a while back). Not to mention that the new tail it grows isn’t nearly as pretty as the original.
I went out and set the little guy on a board in the sun. Then I puttered nearby, occasionally waving my hand over him to see if he’d recovered, but he just sat there on his belly with his eyes closed. Missy was meowing and scratching at the sliding door. I ignored her.
After about fifteen minutes my wave got a reaction. The lizard skittered like lightning across the board and did a quick U-turn and a flip that ended with him underneath it. I could hear the dried leaves rustling as he dug himself in.
When I released Missy, she naturally made a beeline for the board. I shook it to make sure that the lizard would hide far away from the edges. Missy was not happy about that at all. She gave me a dirty look and strolled off to freshen her marks.
Western fence lizard (Sceloporus occidentalis), photographed by Cary Bass, at Valley of the Moon, Napa County, California, on May 2, 2008.
A couple of hours earlier, Bob Cat had gone out to refresh the bird bath and found ice on top. (Do we need a bird bath heater? In San Diego County?) So I feared the worst as I reached into the icy water. But the lizard flexed its claws - just barely - as my hand closed around him. I rushed him inside, chasing Missy back into the house as I went. (An adult Western fence lizard is typically 21 cm, or 8 inches, long.)
In the kitchen, I ran some warm water into a bowl and eased the little guy in, keeping his head above water. From time to time I lifted him out. He gradually began to move his arms and legs and tail, although he was still cold and dazed. I changed the water a few times to keep it warm.
His eyes were still closed, so I dabbled a little warm water over his head. All at once, his eyes opened and he jumped out of my hand really fast and tried to get the hell out of the sink. Fortunately it was wet and all he could do was run in place, his tail wriggling like a snake’s. Thank goodness for that, because I did not want to have to chase him all over the house, trying to evade Missy and get him out from under the fridge or the stove or who knows where. It was hard enough to get a good hold on him while laughing so hard.
Finally I got him safely in my hand. It took a few seconds, since I was trying not to grasp his tail firmly enough for him to drop it. A Western fence lizard, like many other lizards, stores fat in its tail, and although detaching the tail (which keeps wriggling as the lizard runs away) can save it from a predator, losing it can affect its chance of survival later on (according to a study I read about a while back). Not to mention that the new tail it grows isn’t nearly as pretty as the original.
I went out and set the little guy on a board in the sun. Then I puttered nearby, occasionally waving my hand over him to see if he’d recovered, but he just sat there on his belly with his eyes closed. Missy was meowing and scratching at the sliding door. I ignored her.
After about fifteen minutes my wave got a reaction. The lizard skittered like lightning across the board and did a quick U-turn and a flip that ended with him underneath it. I could hear the dried leaves rustling as he dug himself in.
When I released Missy, she naturally made a beeline for the board. I shook it to make sure that the lizard would hide far away from the edges. Missy was not happy about that at all. She gave me a dirty look and strolled off to freshen her marks.
Western fence lizard (Sceloporus occidentalis), photographed by Cary Bass, at Valley of the Moon, Napa County, California, on May 2, 2008.