Friendly Water Monitor Lizard Rescued From Missouri Storm Drain

What happened

According to UPI, county animal control officers in Missouri recently responded to an unusual suburban call after a large exotic reptile was discovered trapped inside a roadside storm drain. St. Louis County Animal Care and Control reported that the animal, identified as an Asian water monitor lizard, was spotted on Tuesday alongside Niles Place in the southern portion of the county.

Officers successfully fished the substantial reptile out of the drainage infrastructure and transported him to the county animal shelter on an official stray hold. Shelter staff received the large reptile at the facility following the unusual roadside rescue. Despite his formidable appearance, rescuers affectionately nicknamed him Gojira and reported that he exhibited a very friendly demeanor toward handlers.

Because the county facility is primarily designed for domestic pets, an agency employee who maintains appropriate private enclosures for caring for large lizards has stepped in to foster Gojira temporarily. County officials stated that the animal will remain under observation during a standard five-day holding period. If no rightful owner comes forward to claim him by the deadline, Gojira will be placed up for public adoption.

Dale Kowalski weighs in

It happened on a Tuesday. That is the first thing that tells you this is authentic county business. Nobody finds a tropical apex reptile in a municipal catch basin on a Saturday afternoon when people are out mowing lawns. Tuesday is the day when the universe catches up with local civil infrastructure.

The call came in from Niles Place in South St. Louis County. Someone looked down into the storm drain and saw an Asian water monitor staring back up. These animals are native to Southeast Asian river systems and can grow longer than a dining room table. St. Louis County, by contrast, is native to cracked asphalt, sumac bushes, and humid late-summer ditch water. But there he was, sitting quietly under the curb.

I spent twenty-two years in local TV news across the Midwest, and I have seen my share of calls where the dispatcher has to pause and clear their throat before reading the address. I once covered an escaped emu that shut down a county highway outside Terre Haute for three hours because it was fascinated by a gravel spreader. I stood in the drizzle in Kenosha while three volunteer firefighters tried to coax a pet potbellied pig out from underneath a municipal leaf vacuum. You learn early on that whenever someone buys an exotic pet, the town drainage department will eventually get involved.

The animal control officers went out with poles and fished the animal out of the drain. They took him back to the county shelter and put him on a stray hold. They also named him Gojira. That is the kind of name you give something when you work for county government and you need to amuse yourself between budget meetings.

The official report noted that Gojira has a “very friendly demeanor.” I appreciate that sentence. A monitor lizard has claws like roofing nails and a tail that can whip like an extension cord, but the county records him as pleasant. He did not snap at anyone. He did not thrash. He just sat there like a tired neighbor waiting for the hardware store to open.

Then there is the county employee who volunteered to take him home. The shelter was not built for cold-blooded monsters, but this particular worker happened to have proper lizard accommodations at their house. Think about that. You go into the office on Tuesday morning to process dog licenses, and by five o’clock you are driving home with a massive prehistoric carnivore riding in your hatchback. Most people complain about taking their work home with them. This person just made room in the spare room.

If nobody claims Gojira after five days, he will be put up for adoption. Some local resident with a spare heat lamp will sign the papers and load him into a pickup truck. He will probably live out his days watching Cardinals games from a glass tank. There are worse ways to spend an autumn in Missouri.

That’s the news. Somebody had to say it.