Insane Lizard

So, this is a New Jersey story, so many previous readers and contributors will be unfamiliar with it, but those who were there and met the infamous black-with-yellow-spots Colombian Tegu will never forget him. Most of our other lizards were slow and lethargic; they rarely put on the kind of show you hope they will when you buy them. The hope with a Savannah monitor is that it will grow large enough to be put on a leash, taken for a walk, and eat annoying neighboring chihuahuas in one bite if they should venture too close.

Not the Tegu.

I remember the first time I saw it hunt. When food animals - generally crickets, I think, were let loose in the cage, the Tegu would dart all around its large mesh cage, killing anything that moved. But it didn't stop to eat before it darted on; it would kill and leave it for later. It had some major superiority complex where everything needed to either be dead, or . . . well, everything else needed to be dead.

Watching Craig hold that demon was a little disturbing. Onlookers would generally laugh nervously, silently hoping and praying Craig's grip didn't falter. It would open its mouth wide and flop its body as far as possible in fast spasm trying to bite him. He did not abide being held very well. He would flop side to side rapidly trying to find some flesh to remove as punishment for deigning to hold him still - I never held him.

One particular time, he got loose, and we couldn't find him. We figured that little "free spirit" found his way out somehow. I hoped I didn't find him in the tub one morning while groggily getting into the shower because that would freak me out pretty good.

A little background on our stairs: there was sort of a balcony that ran from Mom and Dad's room to the star of the stairs which went out between 3-5 steps, turned right, went down another 7 steps, turned right, and went down the final few steps. This will come in to play in a minute.

I don't remember if it was Mom or Dad who called us into their room, but they found him. We cornered him under the bed. Suddenly the Tegu - whose body was probably under 10 inches long not counting his tail, darted out from under the bed, and all of us chased after him. We got to the balcony, but didn't even slow. He jumped from under the iron railing across the void a solid ten feet up - it would have been like 10 stories for a human height-wise - onto the lower, longer level of the stairs where he continued down. We had to run all the way around, so by the time we got downstairs, he was gone. Eventually, we found him under the brown chest thing in the den, where we cornered him for good and captured him. It was very impressive.

Our biggest fan

One of my earliest memories is of me curled up under a blanket immediately in front of a gigantic metal fan. I actually remember doing this a lot. Part of the reason I could never sleep on a bed was because my body needed to b close to a fan for full resting action. This, mind you, was independent of the weather. Our hearty metal allies were originally recruited against the fierce Texas summers, but I slept right next to one even on cold nights, sometimes with several blankets to make up for the fact that all of my body heat was being sucked away. Crazy? Yes. Very.
We also used them to make wind tunnels by clothspinning blankets together. These things could take up a entire room and stayed up as long as we could convince Mom to let us have them.
Sometime someone discovered (and I think it was me) that if you attached a balloon to your favorite action figure, fired up the fan and tipped it vertical, lo and behold, the ting would hover! On medium you could usually fit a good four or five of these balloon warriors and they'd bounce around congenially, but when you shifted it to high, they'd start thrashing about wildly until only the victor remained. Marvels of engineering, those fans.

Ahhh....Toads.

There are few animals capable of bringing more joy than a toad. Toads had a variety of attributes that made them desirable for Rugglets. For one, they were durable. You could hold a toad all day and it would be fine thanks to its dry skin, unlike a frog. They were ready eaters in captivity, which means you could keep them. You could skip a toad across ditch water three or four times and the thing would swim off no problem. They could even survive Cherish, who would scream "fwog!" until Mom made us go out and catch one, no matter how much we protested on behalf of the toad's well-being (Dad still claims this as Cherish's first word). It also helped that they were easy to find and catch. We were constantly hunting them, partly because they were fun and partly because Dad offered an unbelievable monetary sum (100 dollars, if I remember) for the capture of a rare Houston toad. We never found one, always just the more common Gulf Coast toad. They didn't bite, didn't move too fast and were virtually ubiquitous. You could even catch them as tadpoles and let them grow up. There seemed to be swarms of them in the ditches after rain. My favorite time was a few weeks after a big summer storm when all the tadpoles had grown up into extremely tiny toads, which were (and no other word choice would be appropriate here) adorable. One night we foolishly decided to catch as many as we could and load them into one of our many terrariums. The haul was 34, plus a couple tree frogs. Unfortunately, this was the equivalent of starting a night club for toads and their flirtation consists of loud and incessant ribbiting which effectively prevented any sleep on our part. In the morning we just dumped them unceremoniously into the umbrella grass, glad to be rid of them. I don't think there is any Rugglet that can say he or she hasn't kissed a toad. They served as pets, toys, novelty prank items (Sorry, Mom!), pacifiers, friends (for those of us who had none else), and stuffed animals. To a poor family this plague of toads was manna from heaven.

You fill in the rest

"That guy has a death wish..."

How many times have you heard that about how many things?

FHE

Mom and Dad were always good about holding FHE every Monday night. Mom made a nifty little FHE "job" allocator: our names on flower popsicle sticks moved from paper flower pot to paper flower pot, labelled with the FHE "jobs." We sang songs (lots of 5 little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed), said prayers, conducted family business, had lessons about various gospel topics, and played a game. We usually played hide and seek (I don't care what any of you say I invented hiding up the hallway walls), I Spy, Whose got the Penny, Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar, Twister etc. But the best game of all was Buckin' Bronco. Dad was the bronco and we'd all take turns clinging onto his back while he'd try to buck us off. Everyone else would count and the person who could stay on the longest won the game. I loved this game. And I am in awe of Dad, to this day, as to how he bucked 6or so kids in a row. Anyway, after FHE we always had a treat which was great. I would always chose ice cream. Dad always made tapioca when it was his turn. I don't know what all of you liked to make but treat was, for me, the absolute best part of FHE.

Jacking Up the Floor

Speaking of repairs, ya'll remember our assignment to repair the holes in the trailer floor? We (Andy, Brian and me at least) had to lay underneath the trailer with a car jack and pieces of wood. We would push a new piece of wood over the hole and splintered particle board using the jack. Then we'd screw the new wood in place. There was a great deal of mud, cats, junk, laughing and bickering. Then there was the time Dad had me go under there and fix holes by myself as punishment for talking back to him. It wasn't nearly as fun . . . or easy.

Craig, The Window & Me

The summer after my freshman year of college I came home for a couple months before flying out to Taiwan. I was working the 6-6 night shift at Dennys so I slept a lot during the day. I had no bed or room--I slept on the couch. But I was frequently in my old room on the computer chatting with Morgan.

One day, just before I had to leave for work, I wanted to get on the computer to see if Morgan had written. Craig was on it, playing some computer game. I pestered him to get off so I could check. He wouldn't. I pestered some more. Craig yelled at me to go away. I pestered some more. Craig lost it. He stood up (way bigger than me, as all ya'll were) and shoved me into the window. My bum went right through it, shattering the glass.

I have no recollection of what happened next, our reactions, my injuries etc. But I do remember that Mom put an old neighborhood watch sign in place of the broken window. The funniest part of the whole story, I think, is when I was talking about this with mom a few years back and she completely denied putting the neighborhood watch sign in place of the glass. She said she was sure she'd had a new pane of glass installed. I mean, was anything in our house repaired, let alone professionally? Awesome. The best part of the window incident is the semi-yearly conversations I have about it with Craig, who just won't forgive himself. I love you Craigy!