I went to the reptile expo and accidentally disgraced my pioneer forebears

I went to the reptile expo and accidentally disgraced my pioneer ancestors. I’ve been curious about the reptile expo for as many years as the signs announcing its time and place have popped up all over Salt Lake Valley. But this was the first time the stars aligned and I was in town for the expo dates. I recruited my sister, sister-in-law and all our children, plus my mom, to buy tickets and spend our Saturday afternoon among the scaled and tailed. Because I thought it would probably make a funny story and the kids would probably be into it. Prior to the expo, I had imagined a tank or two featuring a few toads and maybe a couple snakes to be observed. Perhaps a plaque explaining their habitat, diet and behavior. What I did not expect was a giant warehouse-sized room filled with vendors offering every imaginable reptile and also some amphibians available for purchase. A few hundred dollars could get you a baby tortoise that will outlive its humans. Or a smiling axolotl. Or a vibrant red snake. But it wasn’t the axolotls or the tortoises or the snakes that captured my heart, though they were each a thrill to see, hold and ask questions about. It was the chameleon corner of the room that enticed me and my children most. I picked up one of the chameleons and it climbed on top of my head then perched in my hair. Another chameleon did the same thing to one of my kids. We all fell in love. And I was tempted to buy a new pet right then and there. The growing challenge of pet ownership for older Americans Fur-ever family: Most pet owners see pets as part of their family, study finds But, as hard to believe as it may be, I do know better than to purchase an animal on a whim. Especially an animal I know next to nothing about. I explained this to my offspring, who were disappointed but understood. It was difficult for us to walk away from the creatures. In fact, it was only a special presentation on snapping turtles led by a man with a striking resemblance to Chris Hemsworth that enticed us elsewhere. We walked out of the reptile expo empty-handed. But even after physically leaving the lizards, they were all we could think about. At lunch, I soft launched the idea of adopting a new reptilian family member to my husband and he, forever the deal-maker, used the idea as an opportunity to encourage better habits among our children. “What if,” he said to our middle child, “you get a lizard if you keep your room clean for 30 days.” It was a bribe he and I thought would work for a week, tops. Keeping this child’s room clean was a task that made Sisyphus’ work rolling that stone up the hill seem easy. If this plan, or let’s be honest, bribe, worked for even just a few days I would consider it a win. We would probably never actually get the chameleon, I knew, and that was probably for the best. My kid did keep their room clean for a few days. And then a full week. And then a week and a half. And when they hit the two-week mark, my husband and I realized we might actually be getting a reptile companion. Which made me panic a little, because as much as I wanted one, I knew next to nothing about keeping one healthy, let alone alive. So I started researching and was not encouraged by what I found. Because chameleons are not native to Utah, their tanks need to be kept humid, which seemed stinky at best and dangerously moldy at worst. I learned health problems were common in the breed, and that chameleons with their various requirements were not good pets for first-time reptile owners. So I pushed for a pivot to a more recommended lizard — the bearded dragon. After presenting my findings, my child agreed that the bearded dragon would be a better fit for our family. And then they kept their room clean for another two weeks. So on Saturday, we all piled in the car and drove to the highly rated exotic pet store Mark’s Ark and selected our dragon. And the many, many accessories we were told by the Mark’s Ark employees were necessary for reptile survival. After buying a tank large enough to accommodate its growth, a heating pad and heat lamp to keep the tank at 100 degrees, a temperature gauge to ensure proper heat, and a log for basking and shelter, I had spent three times as much as I had expected. But I had yet to understand the true cost of reptile ownership — the crickets. To grow up in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Utah means having an intimate familiarity with the story of the crickets and the seagulls. Opinion: The seagulls once saved us. Will Utah care for them — and the dying Great Salt Lake? In the spring of 1848, swarms of crickets overtook the crops planted by settlers in the Salt Lake Valley. For months they fought the crickets with every means they had, but the crickets were undeterred and the settlers faced starvation. But then, in June, hoards of seagulls flew into the area and devoured the crickets. It was a miracle. After a few weeks, they were freed from the crickets. And now, here I am, bringing crickets into my own home. And not just a few crickets. Hundreds. Because that’s what bearded dragons need to survive. The other day, we ran out of crickets and I had to make an emergency run to the pet store to buy 50 more. I tried not to gag as I watched the PetSmart employee shovel the insects into a bag. Now I’m on a subscription cricket delivery. It feels disrespectful to my pioneer ancestors. They prayed for a miracle to get crickets out of this valley and now I’m paying to have them shipped to my home. But also, my kid’s room is still clean and we’ve managed to keep a lizard alive for almost a full week. Maybe our miracles just look a little different now.