TORONTO STAR (Ontario) 14 September 06 Colourful chameleons will adapt (Alison Griffiths)
Snakes on a Plane? How about Chameleons in Your Closet?
When Chris Baron cuddles Corona the chameleon, you'd swear a purr rolls from his aqua hued lips. Yes, chameleons have lips, of a sort, and if Corona had more flesh on his, there's no doubt he'd plant a big, wet one on the face of the woman gently stroking his veil. The veil, for the lizard illiterate, is the horny protrusion or casque rising like a chef's hat from the top of his head.
Chris Baron has raised three sons in the once rural town of Milton and, along the way, enough pets to populate a small animal zoo. There have been guinea pigs, turtles, cats, rabbits, bugs of many kinds, one dog and a memorable frog with a limp, dubbed Forrest Gimp. Only lizards were lacking.
Baron's middle son, Jeremy, corrected that omission nearly seven years ago when he brought home Sebastian, the chameleon. There are chameleons and then there are veiled chameleons - a distinction Chris Baron was blissfully ignorant of until they buried poor Sebastian a month later and discovered not all chameleons make good house pets.
Curious about the colourful little beasts, Baron researched the species. Of the 120 different kinds, the veiled chameleons are among the best house pets, though expensive in the reptile world with young ones starting at $80. The males can grow to 60 centimetres, the females top out around 35 and both justify the adjective gaudy.
Chameleons are often regarded as suitable for display only, since handling can be stressful for them. However, none of the four Chris Baron has raised to adulthood read that chapter in the chameleon handbook. Corona, "the big baby," is the most loveable of the group, while his mate, Malika, was a tad grumpy. Of the pair's offspring, Blue is "the sweetest, little thing" with cat-like curiosity, while Bosco, his brother, is a little more standoffish.
Corona was the family's first veiled chameleon. When Jeremy, the pet collector, suggested a female companion for lovable Corona, Baron didn't expect to spend almost as much energy on the chameleon birth process as she had on her own pregnancies. Courtship was the easy part. Despite the implications of their name, chameleons are not a kaleidoscope of endlessly shifting hues. Like most of us, they save their best for the opposite sex.
"She was so pretty when she was ready to mate!" Baron enthuses. "She was really flashing her colours for Corona." And, like most of us, when it's over, it's - well - over. Once the deed was done Malika's brilliant pallet of yellow, olive, pumpkin, aqua, turquoise and teal with orange dots darkened into go-away-and-don't-bother-me tones.
For six months Malika's batch of eggs grew inside her. When the time was right, Baron fashioned an egg chamber for her out of a bucket half full with sand and watched constantly, waiting for her to lay them. "She just broke my heart. For 36 hours she dug and rested. Then she wasn't happy with the hole and she'd fill it in. You couldn't look at her because you'd know where the eggs were and she'd fill it in. We had to be very sneaky."
Finally, a clutch of 46 eggs appeared with 24 hatching into tiny, five centimetre lizard slivers.
The Barons decided to keep two, Bosco and the runt of the litter, undersized Blue with a kink in his tail, a crook in his spine, a lopsided jaw and back legs that didn't work. Two years later Blue, though still stunted and clumsy, is very much alive. He may be sweet and curious but he doesn't care for me at all. Balancing awkwardly on my hand, his useless back legs making him teeter precariously, he issues a creaky noise in his chest, the sound of disapproval from the largely soundless reptile. Popping him back in his tank, I detected what must have been a sigh of relief at being freed from the uncertain grip of a stranger.
Homo sapiens have much to learn from the family of Chamaeleonidae. When two males meet they begin a "disincentive ritual," according to the bible of the genus; Chameleons: Nature's Hidden Jewels by Petr Neeas. They flatten, inflate their throats and raise a front leg in a threatening manner. Those with the ability to change and intensify their colour flash in a throbbing array of shades so achingly beautiful watching them leaves all thoughts of war behind, at least for the observer. Usually, the contretemps ends with one male scuttling for cover. Actual chameleon fisticuffs are rare.
In captivity, chameleons are happiest on their own in containers like aquariums with heating mechanisms and decorated with all that makes these reptiles happy - greenery, branches to climb, rocks to hide under and a water source. Baron has Blue and Corona in the same room but unable to see each other, which is how these solitary creatures like it.
Reptiles, as a group, might not have a reputation as affectionate companions, but chameleons actually have distinct social preferences. Corona, 45 centimetres long and the old man at six years of age, is definitely a one-woman reptile. When Baron and her husband departed for a three-week, 25th anniversary vacation, they left the chameleon farm in the hands of her mother and their three sons. "My mother thought I'd killed Corona," recalls Baron. "She was sure he was pining for me. When I got home - I know this sounds so hokey! - he grabbed hold of my shirt, wouldn't let go and just gazed into my eyes."
The gaze of a chameleon is worth the price of admission. Their protruding eyes covered by scaly lids rotate independently. When they settle and fix upon you, as they would on prey just prior to a quick tongue snap and gobble, the tiny pupils have an eerie depth, drawing you in with their reptilian allure. Evolution has made it so. Chameleon vision is among the most highly developed in the animal kingdom.
Most people have coffee cards these days. Chris Baron has a cricket card, which the local pet store punches for every $3 load of 50 live crickets. Blue, because of his, ah, disability, has difficulty snagging the hop happy critters.
"I got a smaller aquarium with nothing in it so the crickets are pretty much sitting ducks," explains Baron with satisfaction. "They can't get away and there's no place for them to hide."
In her quest to feed her chameleons only the best of reptile delights, Chris Baron has become a silk worm's nightmare. While she could purchase the more convenient "silk worm chow" - true, such a thing exists - Baron believes fresh is best. Each of Baron's three get four silkworms a week, at 80 cents a pop.
It is a fair amount of work to keep three chameleons happy but Baron is passionate about the creatures and rates them right at the top of the pet satisfaction scale.
Malika died two years ago and Baron is content with just three reptiles these days. "I can only put so many chameleons to bed at night," she smiles.
http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&call_pageid=971358637177&c=Article&cid=1158054428517
