Spike and Me

There are few things as sacred to me in this world as queer friendship.

It defies and exceeds the boundaries of a traditional definition of friendship, dipping into realms of platonic intimacy bound only by imagination. I had the opportunity to cultivate this glorious connection with my randomly assigned freshman year roommate, Morgan. We spent our college years nested in a double room sharing clothes, cuddles, secrets, and souls; learning and appreciating the details of a person you could only gain from years of cohabitation. In our final semester at college, our queer friendship-roommate-ship shifted into a new dimension. Morgan received permission to bring their pet Bearded Dragon of 13 years to school, to join us in our double.

Honestly, it was so gay of us to co-parent a lizard. I was beyond excited. I had always wanted a pet since I was little and had heard so many wonderful stories about Spike.

Spike (she/he/they) is a bearded dragon, a lizard formally known as Pogona Vitticepps. His body spans 22 inches from head to tail. Their skin is a cool-toned gold, speckled with brown, droplet-like scales, akin to the texture of soft, dry tree bark. Prickly spikes (his namesake) adorn his skin, wrapping around the side of his body, dividing his back from his soft, plush, white underbelly. Her tail accounts for a larger portion of her body length, resembling takeout lo mein baby corn in color and texture. Under her mouth, she sports a “beard”–– extra skin, tinged with a slight orange hue that seems to effortlessly envelop over itself. Their “beard” is their fighting power. When threatened, Bearded Dragons puff out their beard, transforming the plush folds into a sinister, dark protective shield. This I only know as rumor –– I have yet to see Spike’s fleshed out beard.

Spike has a 24x36x36 terrarium made to replicate an arid landscape. Turf-like faux grass lines the bottom of a glass enclosure, supplemented with a water bowl, branches to clamber around, and a mesh hammock to rest in. His cage also contains a heat lamp and a UVB light, maintaining hot temperatures and guaranteeing his sunlight. Bearded dragons are indigenous to the warm climates of Australia, often light forests, grasslands, or desert sandy areas. Their ideal body temperature is 95 degrees, though they are cold-blooded by nature. In the wild, the warm Australia sun keeps Bearded Dragons warm and comfortable. But in upstate New York, a heat lamp is a necessity to maintain temperature.

There are many ways I can see myself in Spike. He was born in New York City, where Morgan picked him out from a pet store, but, like me, Spike has been displaced from his homeland. I was born in New Haven, CT, three years after my parents and brother emigrated from Iran to the United States. Spike and I are both displaced from our ancestral lands and have spent our lifetimes learning to create homes in new soil. Making a home in foreign lands is not easy— I’ve struggled navigating the grief of displacement with my Iranian-American identity my whole life. I straddle the duality of a footing in America without true belonging and roots in Iran with severed connection. Morgan and I have tried our best to create a comfortable home for Spike, but I can only wonder about the loss he experiences, in captivity, away from his habitat and community. Perhaps their body longs to press into velvet Australia soils, to bask under the hot southern hemisphere sun. Perhaps she, like me, feels the deeper spiritual disconnect from heritage, a longing heartbeat of so many in America

Despite his displacement from Australia, Spike made an abundance of friends at college, finding a new sense of community among human students. Bearded dragons are naturally lonely and territorial creatures, unable to socialize with any of their kind. Morgan has told me about a handful of times when Spike has mistaken his reflection in the mirror for another male bearded dragon and has puffed his beard to fight his reflection. I think Spike was meant to socialize with beings that aren’t bearded dragons–– beings he can feel safe and comfortable around, like humans. Spike loves people and they love them too. My housemates and friends eagerly knock on our door to visit her. They cradle her with sweaty palms, stroke her scaley skin, and give her endless affections as Spike smiles and cuddles back. At the ripe old of age 13, he is at the end of his lifetime. I worry about his longevity, but then remember that elderly humans live longer when they are in company and community with other beings.

I make an effort to hold him every day. I approach his cage, peer into his round eyes, and endearingly ask, “Hi Spike, can I hold you?” I’m fully aware that the answer he gives back is not one I can understand through verbal confirmation. Yet, I attune myself to understanding him in other ways: in energy, facial expressions, body language. With one hand I hoist open the top of his terrarium and with the other I cradle my fingers around his belly. I remember when I was first a stranger to him, before he recognized my touch; he would squirm in my hands. Nowadays, he looks at me with anticipation, before clinging lovingly to my body.

I often place him on my stomach, watching him ride the rise and fall of my chest. She climbs up, grasping the edge of my shirt and the thin rope of my necklace. They slide under my curtain of hair and nuzzle into the soft of my neck. She rocks her hips side to side and gently paws the flesh of my collarbone, preparing himself for a short nap.

There is a certain reciprocity in our interaction. Being cold-blooded, they require the external environment to keep them warm. While the artificial warmth of the heat lamp can keep him warm in his cage, outside the terrarium he requires other sources of heat. As he rests on my neck, my 98.6 degree body provides him loving human warmth to keep his cold blood warm. There is something uniquely comforting when I hold her and provide heat while she, in exchange, gifts me companionship and emotional support. As her body weight melts onto my chest, I immediately notice the ease of my breath and release of tension –– the therapeutic side effects of deep touch. I am honored when they close their eyes to rest, knowing this behavior as a signal of trust.

When I wake him from his nap on my neck, he is immediately startled. His eyes flicker open as my hands scoop him from under. It takes him 2 seconds to notice that I’ve lifted him before he squirms in my hand, waving his arms and legs to come back to my chest. It is moments like this where I feel that he recognizes me. Sometimes, I’ll introduce him to a new a friend only to have him crawl back to me. He can sense me.

There are many things I learn from Spike. When we take him out of his cage and let him roam around our room, Spike makes laps, running across the floor, licking our desks, and finding the smallest nooks and corners to take his naps. He reminds me to be curious and adventurous. Spike loves to bask in the sun. In fact, this behavior is a daily routine for Bearded Dragons, and one of the lizard’s most pleasurable activities. As he lays in his hammock under the artificial light of his cage, I am reminded to slow down and take my own personal moments to feel the sun on my skin. My life is filled with busy, day-to-day humanness that is different from Spike (class, work, etc.). Yet, in the relationship I have cultivated with them, I have been reminded of the experiences of existence universal to all beings— love, warmth, curiosity, and taking moments to rest and enjoy sunshine.

            Maybe the ultimate queer friendship is a friendship that transcends species, beyond the bounds of friendship and understanding embedded in the dynamic of a pet and owner. Like Morgan and my friendship, Spike and I share a unique intimacy. She is an emblem of life, consciousness, and awareness outside the human paradigm. My kinship with her is one that bridges the human/animal false binary, seeing and experiencing Spike as a sentient being with whom I share mutual unconditional love. A certain existential loneliness I harbor instantly evaporates as I cohabitate with a form of life different from my own. Though we cannot verbally communicate, I have come to learn and respect alternate ways of knowing and understanding that cannot be explained in words.

I am once again reminded of the expansiveness of love in this existence. What a joy to be queer and breathe life into love.