Rescuing Ladybugs. Jennifer Skiff

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      One thing I did know about Komodo dragons was that they render their victims helpless by holding them down with sharp, curved claws and by piercing their bodies with knife-like teeth while depositing poisonous venom and deadly bacteria.

      I was petrified. My mother had often warned me of the dangers of following others, saying, “Just because Johnny jumps off a bridge doesn’t mean you should.” She was adamant I rely on my own intuition and common sense. As I followed the crowd directly into a den of prehistoric, two-hundred-pound, ten-foot-long, flesh-eating lizards, I instinctively knew I was being stupid.

      Ten steps later I witnessed a frenzy. The desperate, glazed eyes of a young deer were looking through me as three huge dragons ripped her body apart. The boys were intrigued by the sight, while Natalie and I were horrified. I never had the stomach to watch predator-prey nature programs, and this one was live. Still holding Natalie, I turned from side to side like a spectator at a tennis match, scanning the brush and grass for more dragons that might be heading for us. Another fact I’d read on the Smithsonian’s website: Komodo dragons can sense prey up to 2.5 miles away. They knew we were there.

      The feeding dragons ranged in size from six to eight feet long. They were gray-colored and looked like just what they were, giant lizards. The deer’s beautiful head jerked back and forth, and I could hear her bones break. I couldn’t help imagining the deer’s perspective: what it must feel like to be the hunted, and how frightening it would be to live on an island overrun with real-life monsters.

      “Can we get out of here?” Natalie asked.

      “Please,” I begged.

      The boys reluctantly turned and we continued down a dirt trail. Now everyone was on guard: alert and aware of the stupid situation we’d chosen to put ourselves in. Jon protectively took my hand.