Iguanas: The Squirrels of Puerto Rico

By Abigail Hess

Since my conception in 1983, I’ve had a strange and endearing (at least, I think it’s endearing) affinity for all things four-legged.  This of course includes reptiles of all shapes and sizes, so I was understandably pleased to see countless iguanas upon my arrival in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

However, our tour guide Papo felt quite differently about the island’s most common 6-foot-long lizard.

After telling us that they are not, in fact, indigenous to Puerto Rico, Papo explained in intricate detail how iguanas began as mildly entertaining pets…and grew into the most destructive and annoying critters the Caribbean has ever seen.

Despite my optimistic assumptions (which were based upon the prettiness of their yellow eyes and the way they lick their chops after a meal of mosquitoes and dragonflies), iguanas actually aren’t fantastically sweet and adorably quirky creatures.  Papo told us stories of floral devastation, and bitten-off fingers and legs sliced by whipping lizard tails.  But more than the obvious destruction these parasite-like reptiles cause, it was clear that Papo was concerned about one primary characteristic of these monsters running rampant on his homeland:

Their sheer and utter worthlessness.

Apparently in Puerto Rico, iguanas are about as valuable as squirrels are in Oklahoma.  Sure they destroy your stuff and commit suicide under your car tires, but the most annoying thing about them is that there is absolutely no point to their existence.  If squirrels suddenly ceased to exist in the Midwest, no one would bat an eye...and it seems iguanas are equally inconsequential in the tropics of the Caribbean.

At first, this was hard for me to accept.  To outsiders, iguanas are wonderfully fascinating…they can move their eyeballs every which way, and they can crawl on all sorts of unimaginable things, like the walls at Fort San Cristobal.  And especially to me they were mesmerizing, as I’ve never met an animal (or reptile) I didn’t like.  But after several angry iguana stories and countless smooshed iguana parts on the side of the road, I too began to see them as pesky mongrels too trivial for considerate thought.

Now that we’re on our way to Vieques (which is our last stop before our return to frigid Oklahoma), I’m realizing my time in the Land of the Lizards is almost through.  But no matter how much I try to remember my previous affection for iguanas, I can only see them as overgrown  squirrels with emerald scales instead of fur.  I blame Papo.  I blame Puerto Rico.  I blame the government.  But more than anything I blame myself, for letting my pure vision of iguanas become tainted by reality.

So the next time you see an itty bitty iguana in a pet store window, think twice before bringing the cunning critter home.  For if you’re not careful, these uncommon commodities will become as mundane and troublesome as squished opossums on the side of I-35.

Just stick to gerbils and goldfish for mediocre companionship, and leave the dinosauresque reptiles to Puerto Rico.  For the lackluster of iguanas may have faded for me, but the hope of it still lies in you.

Much love.