This is going to be fun.
For many years, I worked in retail—specifically in an aquatics and reptile superstore. I was the Herpetology Lead: essentially middle management specialising in all things reptilian, amphibian, and invertebrate. Despite becoming something of a school-holiday attraction, having to endure other people's unruly children, cleaning up after them, and spending half my day alternating between "Please stop tapping the glass" and "No, you can't hold that," it was an incredibly enjoyable and fascinating job.
During my time there, I launched several breeding programmes that are still running today. I published a number of articles in herpetoculture and captive care, contributed to the development of specialist T5 UV systems and complete reptile diets, worked with National Geographic and the Photo Ark project alongside the remarkable Joel Sartore, and collaborated with the RSPCA on cases involving neglect, abuse, and rehabilitation. I also became, according to a good friend, a "local celebrity"—a claim I'm still not entirely convinced by, Pratty.
I even opened a Sunday walk-in clinic to help reptile keepers assess potential health concerns without needing to remortgage their homes to afford a veterinary consultation. Most importantly, I met my beautiful fiancée, my partner in life and in all things including PRO Herpetology.
For the most part, it was an incredibly rewarding time.
And along the way, we had some laughs—mostly courtesy of customers and some truly baffling things that were said.
Please take these stories exactly as they're intended: a bit of harmless fun. I'm not mocking anyone, trying to be mean, or looking to make anyone feel foolish. Retail simply places you on the front line of human nature, and sometimes human nature provides comedy gold.
So, with that disclaimer out of the way...
The Curious Case of "Where's the Reptile?"
This wasn't a single incident. This happened constantly.
"Are there any reptiles in here?"
"Why can't I see any of the animals?"
"There's no animals in here!"
Anyone with even a passing familiarity with reptiles will know that around 99% of species commonly kept in captivity are nocturnal, crepuscular, shy, secretive, or—much like myself—perfectly content avoiding social interaction whenever possible.
A happy reptile is often one that can't be seen. If it has managed to wedge itself into a hide that appears physically impossible to enter or exit, then it's probably having the time of its life.
Reptiles are naturally cautious animals and, importantly, they are not domesticated.
Unlike dogs, cats, horses, or livestock, reptiles have never undergone true domestication. While species such as corn snakes, leopard geckos, and royal pythons have been bred in captivity for decades, they remain genetically very similar to their wild ancestors.
A corn snake hatched in Birmingham is still, biologically speaking, a small North American predator whose ancestors spent millions of years perfecting the art of hiding under logs and eating rodents.
Selective breeding has produced countless colour and pattern morphs, but comparatively little selection has been applied to behavioural traits. As a result, reptiles generally tolerate human interaction rather than actively seeking it.
They don't see us as family members, hunting partners, or emotional support providers. Most reptiles seem to regard humans with the same polite indifference a Victorian aristocrat might reserve for a distant cousin—perfectly acceptable company, provided they're several feet away and not attempting conversation.
Now try explaining all that to an impatient ten-year-old while their parents are busy scrolling through Facebook.
"Is That Snake Poisonous?"
Still one of my all-time favourite questions.
The answer?
None of them.
There are no poisonous snakes in the collection because snakes aren't poisonous—they're venomous.
Out of roughly 3,500 recognised snake species, more than 600 possess venom. Venom and poison are not the same thing.
Venomous animals actively inject toxins through bites or stings. Poisonous animals passively deliver toxins when touched, eaten, or otherwise interacted with.
So when I'm wrestling a ten-foot boa constrictor to check he hasn't injured himself after another gravity-related incident—which happens far more often than you'd think—I'm in no danger of being poisoned.
In fact, most boas possess approximately two brain cells, both of which appear to be competing for third place.
"That Turtle Needs More Water!"
I absolutely agree.
Turtles need water.
Many species require enough water to fully submerge themselves. Some can only eat in water. Others have evolved specialised feet designed specifically for swimming.
So yes, turtles definitely need water.
The problem was that the gentleman shouting this at me wasn't looking at a turtle.
He was looking at a Horsfield tortoise.
When somebody is aggressively informing you that your Horsfield tortoise needs a swimming pool, confusion becomes a reasonable response.
For clarity, Horsfield tortoises cannot swim and should never be placed in deep water, as they can drown.
Yet here was a fully grown man informing me—at considerable volume—that he'd been keeping turtles for thirty years and therefore knew that my tortoise needed somewhere to swim.
I spent several minutes carefully explaining the difference between turtles and tortoises.
Apparently I was wrong.
The tortoise needed swimming lessons.
Who knew?
Relearning Bearded Dragon Biology
Another area where I was apparently woefully underqualified.
A young mother once informed her daughter—within earshot—that the spikes on a bearded dragon are actually gills used for breathing underwater.
The daughter then quite reasonably asked why I hadn't provided the dragon with a swimming pool.
I can honestly say that every flabber I possessed was thoroughly gasted.
While bearded dragons can swim when necessary, they certainly don't require swimming facilities to thrive.
Excess humidity can contribute to respiratory infections, fungal issues, bacterial growth, and shedding complications. Their natural environment is arid, and successful husbandry reflects that.
Still, it was nice to discover that after years of study, there remained entirely new branches of bearded dragon anatomy for me to learn about.
"I'm Going to Report You to the RSPCA!"
This one remains a personal favourite.
As mentioned earlier, I frequently worked alongside the RSPCA assisting with rehabilitation, assessments, and occasionally court cases involving neglect and abuse.
On one occasion, two male Horsfield tortoises were brought in following a serious neglect case. Both had been housed together in an enclosure far too small for them, resulting in bites, shell damage, and a mutual hatred that bordered on impressive.
Male Horsfields generally fall into one of two categories:
- They hate other tortoises and attempt to kill them.
- They love female tortoises and attempt to kill them before mating with them.
I was examining one of the tortoises while discussing documentation requirements with the attending inspector when I was suddenly ambushed by what can only be described as an extremely angry goblin with blue hair and a septum piercing.
"You are killing those tortoises by keeping them apart!"
Apparently, tortoises require companionship, form lifelong bonds, and will perish from loneliness if separated.
The conviction with which this was delivered was genuinely impressive.
For a moment, I nearly questioned my entire career.
I politely explained that the animals were being separated for their own safety and that the situation was slightly more complicated than she believed.
This explanation was met with:
"I'M GOING TO REPORT YOU TO THE RSPCA!"
This declaration was delivered while standing approximately three feet away from a very confused RSPCA inspector.
Just another Tuesday.
IMPACTION!
Possibly the most overused word in modern reptile keeping.
There are corners of social media—primarily Facebook, though surely that surprises nobody—where "impaction" is treated as the inevitable consequence of any substrate that isn't kitchen roll.
Tiles. Newspaper. ReptiCarpet. Vinyl. Paper towels.
Apparently these are the only things standing between civilisation and complete digestive collapse.
What rarely gets discussed is that impaction is generally a husbandry issue rather than a substrate issue.
Poor temperatures, dehydration, illness, nutritional deficiencies, and inappropriate feeding practices are often far more significant contributors.
After all, wild reptiles somehow manage to survive without someone following them around with a dustpan and vacuum cleaner.
One day, a customer returned to purchase fresh substrate for a bearded dragon that was thriving.
Healthy. Active. Growing well. Eating enthusiastically.
While discussing options, we were interrupted by a bystander who informed both of us that anything other than paper constituted animal abuse due to the risk of impaction.
The word itself was delivered with such dramatic emphasis that I half expected thunder to crack overhead.
When I politely disagreed, I was rewarded with a colourful critique of my appearance, my baldness, the reptile department, and something about "people like you" that remains unclear to this day.
After a brief discussion, I escorted the gentleman to the front door and considered asking whether he had a responsible adult waiting outside.
The Tortoise Paddock Incident
This story is slightly more physical.
For context, I'm 6'2", around 110 kilograms, and built like a retired rugby player who still occasionally mistakes himself for an active rugby player.
Our outdoor tortoise paddock covered around 140 feet and housed several tortoises, including one particularly stubborn sulcata. Numerous signs were displayed around the enclosure:
Please do not enter.
Tortoises can bite.
Restricted personnel only.
You know, the usual.
One afternoon, I spotted two young men climbing into the enclosure and attempting to pick up the sulcata simply because they could.
I politely asked them to stop.
This request was met with a creative selection of profanity.
I translated my request into language they appeared more likely to understand.
Still no success and this was met with threats. Not something I respond well to.
With a heavy heart and a patient smile, I stepped over the fence myself and encouraged them to leave.
This encouragement involved gently introducing both individuals to a conveniently located patch of stinging nettles.
There followed several cries of "Nah bruv!" and "Nah fam!" alongside what I can only assume were threats of violence, although I confess much of the dialogue was difficult to decipher and without a translator, lost to the sands of time.
The tortoise, meanwhile, seemed entirely unbothered by any of it.
Probably because she was a tortoise.
Final Thoughts
Looking back, retail wasn't really about selling reptiles, vivariums, live food or bags of substrate.
It was about people.
Some were knowledgeable, some were enthusiastic, some genuinely wanted to learn, some were a true delight that genuinely made my day and some arrived carrying information acquired from a mysterious corner of the internet where tortoises swim, bearded dragons have gills, and loneliness is the leading cause of death among male Horsfield tortoises.
Despite the occasional madness, I genuinely loved every minute of it.
Working with animals is rewarding. Working with passionate keepers is inspiring. Working with the general public is often educational—just not always in the direction you'd expect.
The animals themselves were easy. They behaved exactly as nature intended.
The humans, on the other hand, were far less predictable.
After all, in a career spent handling snakes, lizards, spiders, crocodilians, and tortoises, the most dangerous thing I encountered was never an animal.
It was confidence combined with absolutely no idea what was going on.
And unlike the reptiles, there was no enclosure glass between us.
Add comment
Comments