Bruce ought to like ants, I thought.
I was seven years old, and I was playing God — though I didn’t think of it that way at the time. My aim was to create a glorious paradise for the lone inhabitant of my domain: Bruce.
I had found Bruce in my parents’ garage, and I managed to catch him without pulling his tail off — a feat of which I was quite proud. I should mention here that Bruce was an anole, that common backyard-dwelling lizard that can change from green to brown.
Bruce’s Garden of Eden would be the 2.5-gallon aquarium that had previously housed a school of guppies, all of which had recently died as a result of my attempt to convert them from freshwater to saltwater. In that aquarium, I lovingly sculpted for Bruce a dirt landscape that sloped down to a “pond” at one end of the tank. I added sticks. Leaves. Grass. All that was missing was food.
I was pretty sure that lizards ate insects, so I went looking for some. And right there in our front yard, I hit the jackpot: Against the curb was a beautiful anthill — plenty of food for my little Bruce!
I carried Bruce’s aquarium outside, scooped up a generous chunk of the anthill with a trowel, and dumped it about six inches away from Bruce, who didn’t seem to notice. After watching until I grew bored — probably about ten seconds — I left, intending to come back every once in a while to see whether Bruce had yet found the food I’d so lovingly provided for him.
As it turned out, Bruce didn’t find the ants, exactly; they found him. At least, that’s how I imagine it went. All I know is that when I came back to check on him, he was lying upside down, his body swollen and motionless, covered with a swarm of fire ants.
And so for the second time in as many weeks, I emptied out that little 2.5-gallon aquarium and honored its erstwhile occupant, whose death I had caused, with a shallow backyard grave marked by a cross fashioned from popsicle sticks. (This, I believed, would ensure Bruce’s entry to heaven.)
It was a shame that Bruce had to die, but at least I learned a valuable lesson: Don’t try to feed a lizard five hundred fire ants all in one go. Of course, I never put this lesson into practice, and that does still make me feel a bit guilty. But what can you do?
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll go out and catch another lizard.