When the smaller Taraquira died, redoubled care was bestowed on the survivor, but unfortunately, we could not transfer the Brazilian climate to a London residence, and my Taraquira Smith only lived long enough to display that peculiar and yet not vicious instinct of letting you know that its tail was armed throughout its entire length with those sharp prickly scales.
One more lizard-pet deserves an obituary notice.
‘I have a horned toad from Texas down at my office,’ said an Ohio editor to me, when I was visiting in that State. ‘Will you like to call in and see it, when you pass that way?’
The reader will surmise that a very short time elapsed ere I did ‘pass that way;’ and my friend the editor bade me welcome by beginning an immediate search for the ‘horned toad,’ which apparently was allowed the free run of the office. Has the reader ever been introduced into the office of a Western newspaper editor? A chaos of ‘exchanges’ is its principal characteristic. You wonder how one man in a lifetime, much less a week—this was the office of a weekly paper—could look over and ‘scissors and clip’ from that astonishing miscellany. However, the object now was to hunt up the toad, not news. Exchanges in compact piles and loose piles were moved from shelf to table and table to shelf; exchanges half-opened and unopened, exchanges already clipped and thrown under the spacious table; papers filed and papers not filed; books and magazines in vast piles to be reviewed; ink of all colours in bottles of all sizes, some full, some empty; penholders and pencils enough to kindle a fire; paper-knives, scissors, rulers, and clips anywhere but in their natural places; and as for manuscripts, advertisements, and advertising books—from the size of a bath-towel down to the daintiest card—not to mention samples and offerings presented to the influential man in order to win a good word in his paper (here is the office-boy with another armful by the mail just in), and ‘copy’ enough for six months’ use scattered about! All these things were moved, lifted, separated, swept on one side and swept back again, turned over again and again; but no toad rewarded that amiable editor’s search. ‘Toads like damp,’ I suggested, while offering my small aid in picking up a shower of literature which my friend scattered in his haste. ‘The poor thing can scarcely feel comfortable among this wealth of information and so near the stove.’
‘Well, it is an improvement on a boy’s pocket, anyhow,’ returned the erudite man. ‘I rescued it from a boy who had been carrying it about in his pocket for a whole fortnight. His uncle, just from Texas, brought it for him to play with. It was here half an hour ago, for I saw it,’ continued the editor, rummaging a shelf of exchanges for the fourth time. ‘It’s half dead anyhow; for horned toads won’t eat when they’re caught. Do, pray, take a seat.—Why, there he is!’ and down on the floor, in a dusty corner behind a chair which the editor drew out for me, was a poor, pretty little saurian, with a pointed tail, and a cornet of spikes round its head, which gave it a quaint and decorated appearance.
‘It is not a toad after all!’ I ventured to explain; but belief in vernaculars is strong.
‘Maybe it’s a frog, then; there are horned frogs, too, in Texas.’
On a first glance, the reptile has somewhat the appearance of a frog or a toad (with the addition of a tail). Its body was broader for its length than is usual in lizards, and its head was short and flat, looking all the more so for the horny spines, which stood out like a frill. The poor little half-dead thing was too feeble to struggle, and too thickly coated with dust to display any other than mud colour. From its long fast, it was merely skin and skeleton, painfully concave beneath. I gladly accepted it from the editor; and on reaching home gave it a bath, letting it remain in the water, and douching it thoroughly, which seemed to invigorate it, as it tried to crawl out of the basin, and opened a pair of bright black eyes. Gradually, its markings and true colour appeared, and it turned out to be an exceedingly pretty iguanian lizard; but, as my friend the editor had with reason said, it is generally known in Texas as ‘the horned frog’ or ‘the horned toad,’ or scientifically, Phrynosoma cornutum.
It now already gave signs of recovery, and when placed on its back, could right itself, and even crawl, and was a quaint, pretty little creature, worth preserving. But a tremendous obstacle here arose. There were young ladies in the house, and had they known I had surreptitiously brought home a toad to ‘sting them with its poisonous horns,’ the consequences are too appalling to conjecture! Such a terrific creature of four and a half inches long, tail inclusive, to be introduced into the family circle! So Iguana and I kept our secret; and I slyly smuggled a large, empty flower-pot into my room, and lined it with fresh grass and a clump of turf from the garden, and had the pleasure of seeing the poor little stranger nestle in it with evident satisfaction. I got its mouth open and gave it water, which it swallowed readily; and by-and-by administered a few flies, one at a time, which it also swallowed; and at night it crept under the turf. Next day, it meekly swallowed more food and drink, similarly administered, and was so greatly strengthened as to try to climb up the side of the flower-pot, then standing in the sunshine. This great flower-pot and its inmate caused me continuous alarm. When any one was expected in my room, it was hidden in all manner of places; but when there was no danger of interruption, it could stand on the window-ledge, fortunately hidden from outside view by a veranda beneath. And in this way Iguana lived for many days, during which it rapidly improved. It is not surprising that such reptiles do not eat in captivity. Their habit is to pursue insects, and swiftly too, or to pounce upon one that takes its fancy; and no half-dead fly or amputated spider thrown into its cage would excite its natural instincts. But this queer little animal submitted to be fed in a ludicrous manner. Without much difficulty I got its mouth open; and after suspiciously swallowing the first mouthful, it took the second and third as passively as a baby fed with a spoon. In this way it ate four or six insects a day, varied by a few drops of water or the soft pulp of a grape.
When my visit in Ohio was terminated, Iguana was secretly packed in moss in a little flat box and put in my bag; and the huge empty flower-pot was left outside the window, to excite the wonder of the curious. The friends I next visited knew nothing of ‘horned toads’ and their ‘venomous spines,’ and all alarms were forestalled by my saying: ‘I have such a pretty little animal up-stairs—a tame lizard which was given me at B.’—‘Oh, do let us see it!’ was the encouraging reply; and when duly presented in my palm, whatever natural shrinking the ladies might have felt, was over-ruled by the ‘queer thing’s’ evident harmlessness and its undeniably pretty coat. And now it was made happy in a large birdcage with a carpet of turf and moss; and when placed in the sunshine, was—in unexaggerated language—‘wild with delight.’ My hopes were to feed and strengthen it for another week or two, by which time it might be safely consigned to a box and to hibernation. But—and it is sad to end this little history with a ‘but’—there came at the beginning of November some very warm days, and the sun had so much power, that when the cage was placed in the window, Phrynosoma must have imagined itself back in Texas. Only twenty minutes elapsed, and when I looked again, it was gone! How it could have squeezed itself and its long spikes between the wires, surpasses comprehension; but gone it was!