Little Bit's story is the most tragic of all the iguanas I've owned. If you are easily led to tears, either turn back now or make sure you have plenty of kleenex handy.
I can't recall what led me to buy another iguana. We already had three iguanas living in the house, not to mention more than half-a-dozen cats and two dogs. Maybe it was the fact that she had been all alone in her cage at the pet store for weeks and I was feeling sorry for her. I honestly don't remember.
What I do remember, though, is what a little joy she was. Even more so than Bert or Bailey had been, she loved people and loved to be held and cuddled. She never tried to scamper away or go places she shouldn't, even if she was set down, unleashed, in the backyard. She also seemed to elicit some sort of paternal reaction in the other iguanas, as none of the bigger igs ever tried to be anything less than friendly with her. Even bad-tempered Rennie thought Little Bit was a delight to be around.
We called her Little Bit because she never seemed to grow. She ate almost as much as one of the iggies which were five times her size, but in 12 months she only grew by one-quarter of an inch.
She got along well enough with the other iggies, though they seldom interacted. The cats and dogs gave her a wide berth as they did all the other non-mammalian creatures living in their space.
Like the other babies I'd had before her, Little Bit went everywhere with me and quickly learned the signal to go into hiding behind my neck whenever we were someplace where people might frown upon that sort of thing. My father would even take her with him when he had errands to run.
The fact that she remained so small for so long endeared her to all who knew her. Everyone wanted to pet her and hold her.
It was a lazy summer afternoon, about 13 months after Little Bit had joined our household. The older igs were roaming about the backyard, all within eyesight. Little Bit was in my bedroom, the door shut, so she could have some roaming time without the cats and other critter coming around. My father and I were watching videos with some friends in the living room.
During a break between films, I decided to go get Little Bit and let her sit with us and watch the next movie. She wasn't in any of her usual places in my bedroom, though. The windowsill was empty, the bookshelves were empty. I checked the closet - no iggies there. I started to call her name as I turned in slow circles in the center of the room, wondering which of the many available hiding places she might be in.
Then I heard a scuffle and scrape from under the bed and a little green head peeked out.
"There you are, you little sneak! Wanna come watch Jurasic Park with mommy?"
Author's Note: I'm not sure I can continue from here. I just realized that I haven't had to tell Little Bit's story since, well, since it happened. And I've never tried to write it down before. I've come back to this spot five times now, and I just can't seem to make myself go down that particular memory lane.
Okay, I've let a week go by. Either tell the story or don't. I've thought of just giving the bottom-line basics, but that doesn't do Little Bit justice. She deserves to be remembered as the incredible little trooper she was, not just as a footnote in my iguana history. So here goes...
I knelt down and held out my hand for her, but she didn't come scampering into my arms the way she usually did. "What's wrong, silly, did something scare you?" I looked around the room to make certain one of the cats or dogs hadn't followed me into the room. Nope.
Sliding my fingers under her little body, I lifted her up.
And my heart stopped.
She looked at me with big, apologetic eyes, licked my hand several times and tried valiantly to drag herself up my arm.
I say drag because, somehow, Little Bit had broken her back.
Her spine appeared to be completely snapped just above the hips. Her back end drooped at a grotesque 90 degree angle. Her front legs thrashed and gripped fiercely as she continued trying to climb up my arm.
With tears in my eyes, I gathered Little Bit up close to my chest and hurried back to the living room. Keys and wallet were gathered, and someone drove us to the vet.
An x-ray confirmed what I could plainly see. Her spine had been very cleanly snapped just above the hips. What amazed the vets was that the spinal cord itself had not been disturbed. While Little Bit could not seem to control her hind legs, she still had feeling in them and they twitched when pricked with a needle. The vet even went so far as to suggest that she might regain control of her hind legs once the swelling went down. Certainly, they had no established procedure to reset a broken spine, though the possibility of expensive micro-surgeries was briefly discussed.
All in all, the vet seemed to think it was best for me to just take her home and keep an eye on her for a few days. Since she didn't seem to be in any pain, I saw no reason to disagree.
The hard part was going to be keeping her "inactive" - which the vet recommended in order to reduce the chance of damaging the spinal cord. Obviously, my vet didn't know much about little iguanas. (Actually, in all fairness to the vet in question, they really knew very little about reptiles period. They were more cat and dog vets, but I didn't know of any other vets around that could treat reptiles and they had been our family vet for nearly 20 years.)
Even isolating her in the smallest cage I could find didn't stop her from being the curious and adventurous ig we had all grown to love. She would do her darnedest, grabbing with her front legs and pulling herself along with all her might. It was heartbreaking to watch.
What kind of life is there for an iggie who cannot climb?
Not a happy one, that's for certain. I don't think Little Bit ever understood why she couldn't do the things she used to be able to do. Why she could never be allowed to roam again, or climb again, or run around the backyward.
We all did our best to make her comfortable. I doubt any iggie ever got as much handling, holding, kissing, and loving as she did during that time. We only put her away in her cage at night, so she could sleep; all during the day, someone would be holding her, boosting her little back legs whenever she wanted to climb up to their shoulder or onto the back of couch or chair.
After a week, we took her back to the vet for a checkup.
There was no change, at least none that could be seen via x-ray or physical examination.
By this time, Little Bit had become the talk of the practice. It seemed all the vets and all the technicians were interested in her progress. Three different vets came into the exam room to talk about her condition. The senior vet saw no reason not to continue monitoring her for another few weeks since she hadn't lost her appetite and still did not seem to be any pain.
"Reptiles have remarkable regenerative capabilities," one of them said. "Given time, she could recover completely... with only a hunchback to remind you of what happened. Bring her back in three weeks and we'll see how she's doing."
I was skeptical, and more than anything I was worried about her quality of life. We couldn't hand-hold her forever. And she still didn't have any control of her tail. How can an iguana who can't run, can't climb, and can't tail whip protect itself?
Still, the thought of having her put down was more than I could handle so I nodded my head and took her back home.
A strange thing began to happen back at home. Over the next couple of weeks the rest of the household animals - cats, dogs, and iguanas alike - began to act in a hostile or predatory way towards Little Bit. Maybe they sensed her handicap, her weakness, I don't know, but animals which had once been friendly to her now stalked her. This made it even harder for us to keep her calm and safe.
On another trip to the vet for yet another check up, I finally realized what was really going on. The real reason the vets were so hesitant to have Little Bit put to sleep.
They wanted to study her!
One of the junior vets told me this straight out. "It's quite fascinating, and we're really learning a lot about reptile physiology." I was stunned. "We appreciate you letting us study her like this."
STUDY!?!
While I remained calm on the outside, inside I was livid. Furious. They were letting her suffer this way... not in the hopes that she might recover, but to STUDY her!?!
I left in a hurry that day, but spent many long minutes in the parking lot crying to myself and Little Bit.
I tried to rationalize it as best I could. She wasn't in pain. She was eating well and drinking well. She still wasn't growing, but that didn't strike me as unusual since she had only grown a quarter of an inch in the year I'd had her.
But she wasn't happy. That much was clear, even to the untrained eye.
I talked it over with damn near every person I knew. More and more it became clear that there was only one humane answer. Since none of us could afford "experimental" micro-surgery - a procedure that was just as likely to fail as to succeed - there was only one choice left.
We (I) put off the inevitable as long as possible.
Approximately three months after discovering her under the bed, I wrapped her in a towel and drove, alone, back to the vet. I parked in the shade of a large tree by the park-like area next door to the vet, and unwrapped the towel.
She looked up at me with big, golden eyes and waved her front legs in the air. Hold me, momma!
Then, like now as I write this, the tears began to well up in my eyes. I had never had to do this before in my life. My mom had always done the awful deed whenever any of our pets had needed help getting to Rainbow Bridge. How did she do it? I wondered, once again amazed at the things which parents must endure. I made a mental note to find some way to thank my mother, and then took Bitty for her last romp in the sun.
We sat in the grass for a while, Little Bit enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, me wishing there was some way I could make her understand. She showed little interest in the small tree I tried to help her climb. Her eyes were sad, and I think she knew.
The rest doesn't need to be told, does it? The nurse took her from me, not making me fill out the "reason for visit" form... she knew why I was there by the tears in my eyes.
In the backyard... Bailey on the left, Little Bit on the right.
