Kudzu Queen

By Tamara Ducote

The leash war is over, and Goo the iguana has won. This is why I spent most of a recent Saturday peering up at the canopy of the pear tree. It wasn’t that I thought if I looked at Goo long enough, it would induce him to climb back down. I’ve got enough experience watching pots, trying to induce them to boil more quickly, to know better than that. I just couldn’t think of anything else to do. I’d already tried to enlist help.

“Veronica, honey,” I called sweetly. “Come outside, please, dear.” Dutifully, my 17-year-old trotted out to the backyard. I probably overdid it with the “honey” and “dear.” My friends tell me I would make a terrible poker player. Suspicion was written all over Veronica’s face.

“V., you are such a wonderful daughter to me. Such a profound blessing…”

Suspicion was replaced by downright wariness.

“Just cut to the chase, Mom,” Veronica said. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need you to shinny up that pear tree and get Goo down for me.”

Veronica didn’t even bother to dignify my request with a response, unless you count the resounding door slam as she went back in. Veronica has hated both me and Goo ever since the morning she groggily stumbled into the bathroom and surprised Goo, who was soaking in the tub. A lot of screaming and splashing and clawing at the bathroom door ensued. In the tumult, the shower curtain got torn down. When the bathroom door flung back open, Veronica fled shrieking in one direction and Goo skittered off in the other. Veronica maintains that I should have warned her.

“But then it wouldn’t have been so funny,” I said.

When your iguana is in the top of a pear tree and won’t come back down, you really come face to face with humanity’s fundamental aloneness.

Goo turned his green face towards the sun and closed his eyes. A century or two went by while I waited. Finally, Goo stretched, then looked around and considered his options. To the right was a massive oak tree. Goo cocked his head and studied its enticing branches. Oh, God. If Goo got up into that oak, I’d never get him back. Never.

I’d already lost one iguana outside. It was two years ago. My neighbors still see him from time to time, flashing greenly through the foliage. The neighbors report he is big and feisty. I have no idea how he survives the winters. Goo is actually my third iguana. He has lasted long enough for me to become terribly attached to him. I can’t lose Goo. I can’t go back to joining the Iguana of The Month Club. They send you a fresh iguana every month, for you to kill with your incompetence and ignorance, and you have to wear a huge sandwich board that proclaims, “I am an IRRESPONSIBLE reptile owner.” Responsible herpetoculturists sneer at you and throw rocks, as well they should.

My first iguana, by the way, died a horrible crunching death at the hands of my dachshund. I had no idea the dachshund could move that fast.

Goo turned and studied the roof. It would be an easy leap from the pear tree to the roof. He took a tentative step in that direction.

The roof was better than the oak tree, but not by much. I could clamber up onto the roof fairly easily. Getting down was always the hard part. Getting down while grasping a wriggling, scratching, furious iguana? There was no way it was going to end without me breaking a bone. On the plus side, if I broke a big, important bone, they would surely give me Lortabs at the hospital.

“Snake Lady! Hey, Snake Lady!” It was the 4 -year-old girl across the street. “Why are you looking at that tree?”

By this time, I was fairly grumpy. It’s my tree, and it’s my eyes. So it’s nobody else’s business if I choose to stand in the yard and look at the tree all freaking day. I couldn’t tell the little girl Goo was up in the tree, or else hordes of unsupervised, thrill-seeking children would descend upon my yard. Goo would be spooked, and flee.

“Why are you looking at that tree?” the little girl persisted.

“Because it’s pretty,” I called.

“Can I come look at your tree?”

“NO. Look at one of your own trees.”

Up in his leafy cradle, Goo closed his eyes again and basked. Several presidential administrations came and went. Tectonic plates shifted and formed new continents. Veronica graduated from Harvard Medical School, married a Kennedy, and had several babies. To get revenge on V. for not helping me rescue Goo, I taught my grandchildren how to smoke and curse before they could walk.

And still Goo basked and napped in the top of the pear tree, oblivious to it all.

My friend Adam’s iguana once escaped up into a tree and would not come down. Adam had to chainsaw the tree down to get his lizard back. I can’t imagine myself wielding a chainsaw without seriously hurting myself. On the plus side, if I cut off an entire arm or leg, they will surely give me Lortabs at the hospital.

The misadventure ended anti-climactically, but well. Goo opened his eyes, stretched, and then leisurely climbed back down from the pear tree. I picked him up and carried him into the house.

Folks, you know what this means. Immediately liquefy all your assets and invest in Band-Aids and Neosporin, because the leash war is back ON. On the plus side, if Goo manages to gouge out one or both of my eyeballs, surely they’ll give me Lortabs at the hospital.

Contact Tamara Ducote at TDDucote6@aol.com.

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