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As a homeowner in Pelican Landing for 17 years, I didn’t think there could be a more annoying neighborhood pest than the group of disgruntled owners that, for years, has been sending anonymous emails pooh-poohing any proposals that might cause an increase in assessments.
Then I met the four-foot Monster Iguana — I call him M.I. — who started pooh-poohing all over our house.
I first encountered M.I. last summer when our dachshund and Jack Russell terrier, lounging by the pool, began barking hysterically. When I went outside, M.I. was atop one of the screens on our pool cage, where he had just laid two hefty mounds of feces. I couldn’t get to him -- the pool cage is attached to the roof — so I began shouting and waving my arms. M.I. crawled off the screen, scampered up the roof, and disappeared over the side of the house. I got out my pressure washer and sprayed the poop off the screen and backwards into the gutter. When he didn’t return, I assumed I had scared him off once and for all.
I was wrong. Four weeks ago, I heard something shuffling across the roof. M.I. had returned and there was another horse-sized souvenir -- just one this time but it was at least 18 inches long -- on the same pool screen. Again, I scared him off.
M.I. returned every day or so until last Tuesday. I wasn't able to catch him in the act, but he left numerous souvenirs which, until this morning — more about that in a minute — dotted the west side of our steeply-pitched roof. Iguana feces contains E. Coli and Salmonella. My wife and I spend lots of time on our lanai within a few feet of that roof. So do the dogs. M.I. was threatening not just our home’s appearance but our health. I decided I had to do something.
Iguanas — not to be confused with ordinary tropical lizards — aren’t native to Florida, but, for the last decade or so, have been popping up all over the southern half of the state. I.M. is/was a bright lime green but iguanas can also be orange, black, pink or any combination of those colors. It is speculated someone may have released a pregnant pet iguana into the wild and, ever since, they’ve been multiplying like, well, iguanas. Some females lay as many as 70 eggs at a time. For years they have been causing problems on the Atlantic coast but in the last few years they have moved over to the Gulf Coast where they’ve invaded communities north of us including Gasparilla Island, Cape Coral and Ft. Myers. Since Hurricane Ian in 2022, they are, suddenly, everywhere. I am outside for several hours every day and last week spotted four big ones, not counting M.I., while walking the dogs.
I asked fellow members of the “Residents of Pelican Landing” Facebook page if anyone else in the ‘hood was having problems with iguanas and, if so, what they had done, but I didn’t mention the poop — that tidbit of info was too disgusting. Nobody, it seems, was having iguana issues. Just us.
Knowing iguanas have become a problem on the three golf courses within the community, I called a groundskeeper of one of the golf clubs. He put me in touch with a retired military sharpshooter who came out to my house. He said he likes to use iguanas for target practice. That may sound cruel to pet lovers (for the record, I am most definitely one), but it’s not. Iguanas can dig burrows around houses that can damage foundations. Their germs can kill small animals and make humans ill. They rarely attack humans and are, I'll admit, kinda cute. But because they are an invasive species, the State of Florida requires anyone who traps an iguana to destroy it rather than release it back into the wild.
The sharpshooter, who lives a few miles away, said to call him next time I saw M.I. and, if he was free, he would come right over and kill him with his pellet gun. (It is illegal to fire rifles or shotguns within the city limits so pellet guns are the only way iguanas can be shot in our town.) I showed him a video of M.I. and he said he looked like a 20-pounder, maybe more. That turned out to be a not-so-practical solution. M.I. returned that afternoon — I didn’t see him — and left more poop on the roof. Over the next two days he left several more souvenirs.
A friend suggested I buy a Super Soaker water gun that uses pressurized air to shoot liquids with more velocity and range than a traditional squirt gun, and fill it with vinegar — iguanas hate the smell — so that, if I spotted him, I could blast M.I. through the pool screen. I bought one at Costco but never was able to catch M.I. in the act.
In desperation a week and a half ago, I called a Wildlife Pest Removal Service. The owner paid me a visit last Monday and proposed setting a trap. He said he couldn’t guarantee success but was almost sure the iguana would be lured into it. He said that if M.I. was caught, he would be removed and “euthanized.” I asked how. He said M.I. would be placed in a freezer and would gently fall asleep, after which the corpse would be cremated. I asked if there would be a memorial service, and he laughed. He said that, once M.I. was removed, the roof would be cleaned and treated with an enzyme that would kill any germs he and his poop left behind. We agreed the trap would be installed today.
As if he had overheard us and wanted to express his opinion of our plan, M.I. left a jumbo-sized souvenir on the roof that afternoon.
The next day, a neighbor shot a huge iguana fitting M.I’s description in his yard using his pellet gun. He is 100 percent sure he hit him — he heard the thud of the pellet penetrating the iguana’s hide — but, before he could reload to finish him off, the iguana crawled into a thicket of palmettos. The neighbor is almost certain the iguana was mortally wounded.
I’ve seen no evidence of M.I. since.
Yesterday I called the Removal Service and told them I didn’t need the trap. This morning they sent a professional who treated the roof and pool cage with the enzyme spray. Every hour on the hour I’ve been checking the roof to see if M.I. has returned but so far, so good -- the roof is clear.
Bizarrely, just now, I took a break from writing to figure out how to end this post and went outside to check the roof. It was clear but I spotted another brightly colored iguana — maybe eight inches long — crawling up the west side of our pool cage. I blasted it with the Super Soaker.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed M.I. is in iguana purgatory but am under no illusions he, she, they or whatever it is or was hasn’t left hundreds of offspring.
If so, I hope those iguanas decide to climb on other peoples’ roofs and leave mine alone.
I’ve had it with all this s _ _ t.
