Video: How to train a deadly komodo dragon
What do you do when a giant carnivorous lizard heads straight for you? Try giving it a good scratch behind the ears
YOU would know how it feels to catch a dragon’s eye if you have ever locked gaze with a sparrow that has your sandwich crumbs in its sights. There’s a sense of bright intelligence, at once familiar and oddly alien. That’s fine if the eye belongs to a fluffy little bird, but right now I’m inside the lair of a giant carnivorous lizard. The humid atmosphere isn’t the only thing making sweat course down my temples. I have piqued the curiosity of Raja, a Komodo dragon, and he’s heading straight for me.
My adventure started with some careless talk over a post-work pint with a New Scientist editor. I passed on a snippet I had read recently in a zoo newsletter: that Komodo dragons can be taught to come when you call their name using the same techniques employed in your average dog-training class.
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This may sound implausible but then a body of research suggests that cold-blooded, small-brained reptiles are more intelligent than we realised. Some scientists even have tortoises negotiating mazes like lab rats.
Within days I had been sent to London Zoo, which was happy to grant me access to a training session with Raja, one of its star attractions. For years, zoos have trained mammals such as big cats so they can be handled by keepers and treated by vets without being anaesthetised. Dragon training only became widespread more recently, once the animals’ intelligence and playfulness came to light.
Zoos have every reason to want their Komodo dragons well trained. They are the world’s largest living lizards, growing up to 3 metres long and weighing in at up to 90 kilograms. They can out-sprint a human and bring down prey much larger than themselves, including pigs, deer and even water buffalo.
The dragon’s fearsome reputation has only been enhanced by the debate over its infamous bite. Prey that survives an initial mauling often suffers a lingering death. But is this down to the dragon’s or the septic bacteria living in its mouth?
Beware of the drool (Image: David Stock)
Worryingly for me, in 2001, a dragon in Los Angeles Zoo bit the foot of newspaper editor Phil Bronstein, then husband of actor Sharon Stone, during a tour of a dragon’s enclosure. I pay heed when Raja’s keepers tell me not to wear white shoes, as the dragon could mistake these for the white target he has been trained to associate with food.
Reptile intelligence is at the root of my current predicament. Dragons are extremely inquisitive, and Raja is suddenly very interested in the new person who has just stepped into his enclosure. He scrambles towards me to investigate. Zoo keepers George Sunter and Grant Kother block his path, but Raja is craning his powerful neck around them, a forked tongue ribboning rapidly in and out of his mouth. The keepers think he’s mistaking my pale-coloured pocket camera for a tasty dead rat; the strap could resemble a tail. I scuttle outside and stuff it into a pocket while they distract him.
Sunter assures me that dragons in zoos are generally a friendlier bunch than those in the wild. “For whatever reason, nobody understands why, they tame down when they are in captivity,” he says. Tell that to Bronstein.
Yet when I tentatively poke my nose back around the door, sure enough, Raja is obediently accompanying Sunter around the enclosure. He’s following a target, a white ball on a stick. Each time Raja noses the ball, there’s a metallic clicking noise, and he is rewarded with a dead mouse. Gulp. Gone.
The clicking is a way of signalling approval to the dragon when it has carried out a task. Over time, the animal learns to associate the click and the food reward. “It’s effectively like saying, ‘Good boy’,” says Sunter, handing out the mice with a pair of tongs.
The affection Raja’s keepers feel for him is evident as they target-train him around the enclosure. “Come on, big fella, on you come,” calls Sunter, addressing this enormous slavering lizard in the tone you would use to fuss over a puppy. Raja blinks owlishly, as a sticky stalactite of drool dangles from his jaws.
The training is part of a wider programme of “enrichment”: activities and objects that allow captive animals to express their natural behaviour. It is vital to look after an animal’s mental as well as physical health, says Sunter. It also boosts the chances that breeding programmes will be successful.
Sunter and Kother mark Raja’s den with animal scent trails, for instance, and reward him with food wrapped up in boxes for him to rip open. He even has dragon-sized versions of dog toys.
One is a hollow ball with a hole in it that the dragon can nose around to dislodge the treats it contains. The treats aren’t dog biscuits – they are dead mice. “Having a giant Komodo dragon is like having an industrial-strength dog,” says Kother.
It’s true. When Sunter squats down to stroke Raja’s head and massage his back, this dragon does seem canine. With his eyes half-closed, body relaxed and legs splayed out behind him, Raja has the contented air of a mutt who’s having his ears scratched.
This gentle contact is a useful way of relaxing him so that he lies still for procedures such as X-rays, says Kother. In fact, it chills Raja out so much that his keepers can manicure his claws without having to restrain him.
With Raja so calm, I pluck up the courage to ask for a stroke. Sunter stations himself by Raja’s head, just to be on the safe side, as I gingerly run my fingers over the lizard’s back.
“I pluck up the courage to run my fingers over the lizard’s back. It’s like stroking a giant pineapple”
He is a beauty. His skin, cobbled with countless tiny bony discs called osteoderms, feels dry and rough. It’s like stroking a giant pineapple. I slide my hand gently over the gnarled bellows of Raja’s flanks to feel the rise and fall of his breathing. The dragon turns his head and fixes me with a questioning eye. Interested.
Tame as he is, I’m not going to push my luck. For all his intelligence and training, this is still a powerful beast that is king of his island food chain. If you find yourself in a staring contest with a dragon, it’s probably wise to be the first to blink.
This article appeared in print under the headline “How to train your dragon”
