Pipsqueak is a bearded dragon (Pogona vitticeps). More specifically, he's Penny's very own, rather special little bearded dragon.
He has just celebrated his first birthday.
And he measures a mighty ten inches from nose to tail.
"Why is he so small?"
Don't worry...
I get asked that fairly often.
Pip—as he is affectionately known—hatched from one of our clutches in July 2025. Like all of his siblings, he began life charging around the enclosure with all the confidence of something that weighed less than a digestive biscuit while simultaneously being terrified of absolutely everything.
Our hatchling bays are fairly standard: 36" × 18" × 18" enclosures with overhead UVB, a basking hotspot, paper towel substrate (yes... it does have its uses), hides, climbing opportunities and plenty of food.
The hatchlings usually spend around four weeks growing in these enclosures before moving on to new homes. Exactly when they leave isn't determined by a calendar. The animals usually tell us when they're ready. Growth rate is one clue. Confidence is another. Attitude, perhaps surprisingly, is often the biggest.
Pip...
Well...
Pip was a little different. And we had to figure out why…
We eventually discovered the problem.
Pip hadn't hatched with the tip—or apex—of his tongue. For reasons we'll probably never know, it simply hadn't developed.
That might not sound particularly dramatic until you realise just how important that tiny piece of anatomy really is.
For a bearded dragon, the tongue isn't just for eating.
The apex is coated in sticky mucus, allowing insects and plant material to adhere during feeding. It also plays a crucial role in exploring the world. Like many reptiles, bearded dragons regularly flick their tongues against objects, collecting microscopic chemical particles before transferring them to the Jacobson's organ in the roof of the mouth.
That little "mlem" every reptile keeper loves...
...isn't just adorable.
It's information.
Pip was a broken little chap who instantly stole Penny's heart.
She spent hours hand-feeding him. Tiny pieces of pre-killed insects. Finely diced salad. Anything she thought might give him the best possible chance.
Because that's exactly who Penny is.
Over the years I've watched her nurse countless animals through poor husbandry, broken bones, metabolic bone disease and neurological problems. Animals other people had written off. Animals that simply needed someone prepared to invest the time.
I was there for every one of them.
Doing my part. Helping however I could.
Not because rehabilitation was ever my passion...
...but because it was hers.
That's why we work. Not because we always see things the same way.
But because we share the same goal. We help the animal standing in front of us.
Most breeders, having discovered the problem, would probably have made the difficult decision to euthanise him immediately.
Not us.
Over the years, I've had to make that decision more than once.
I've held hatchlings with spina bifida, severe developmental abnormalities and congenital deformities that meant life wasn't simply going to be different—it was going to be one of prolonged suffering. In those cases, the kindest thing you can do for the animal is also the hardest thing you'll ever do as a breeder.
Those decisions were never made easily.
They were never taken lightly.
And, if I'm honest...
They still haunt me.
Pip was different.
His condition wasn't fatal.
It wasn't painful.
It simply meant that the way he interacted with the world—and the way he found his food—was going to be very different from every other bearded dragon we'd ever raised.
Where some people saw a dragon that would always need extra work...
Penny saw a dragon that deserved the chance.
Pip had found his guardian angel.
The weeks became months and, against all expectations, he slowly learnt to navigate the world in his own way. Every successful feed was a small victory, every shed another reminder that he wasn't simply surviving—he was finding his own path. Slowly, almost without us noticing, survival turned into living.
As he grew, I expected his behaviour to change.
His father, Greebo, is exactly what you'd expect from an adult male bearded dragon. Confident without being reckless, always aware of his surroundings and never one to miss an opportunity to remind the rest of the world that he is, in fact, a very important dragon. The occasional head bob at another male, a little territorial posturing, and just enough swagger to suggest he believes the entire reptile room belongs to him.
And shoes.
He doesn’t like shoes.
Naturally, I expected Pip to grow into that same confidence and hopefully not the same irrational hatred of footwear.
Like every young male bearded dragon I'd raised before him, I waited for the first tentative head bob. The first territorial display. That unmistakable adolescent swagger that seems almost hardwired into male Pogona vitticeps.
It never happened.
As I write this on 1st August 2026, Pip is just over a year old. He weighs a mighty 27 grams and measures around 10 inches from nose to tail. A healthy bearded dragon of the same age would typically measure between 16 and 24 inches and weigh somewhere in the region of 300 to 500 grams.
Pip isn't even close.
Yet there are no obvious concerns with his health. His digestion is normal. His mobility is excellent. He's quick, alert and remarkably observant. In fact, his eyesight has become one of his greatest strengths. Very little escapes Pip's attention.
Behaviourally, however, something fascinating happened.
He never seemed to leave babyhood.
Instead of displaying like his father, Pip remains remarkably submissive. If he catches sight of another bearded dragon, there is no head bob, no black beard and no attempt to establish himself.
He arm waves.
Every single time.
It's the behaviour of a juvenile acknowledging a larger, more dominant dragon.
At over a year old...
Pip still behaves as though the world is much bigger than he is.
For me, Pip raised a far more interesting question than simply "Why is he small?"
Could developmental rate influence behavioural maturation in bearded dragons?
Does physical growth and body size play a role in the onset of adult hormone-driven behaviours, or is chronological age alone enough?
Honestly... I don't know.
And that's entirely the point.
Pip is over a year old. By the calendar, he's an adult male. Yet behaviourally he still resembles a juvenile, greeting larger dragons with submissive arm waves rather than the confident displays I'd expect from a mature male.
Whether that's related to his reduced body size, his congenital tongue deformity, altered hormonal development, or something else entirely, I simply don't know.
What I do know is that development is far more complex than a date written on a hatchling record card.
And I know that, whatever the answer turns out to be, my Penny will be beside him every step of the way.
There's every possibility that Pip won't grow any larger. Equally, he might surprise us all and continue growing for years to come.
Honestly, it doesn't matter to me and Penny. He'll always be Pip—the little dragon who taught me to stop measuring individuals against averages.
He eats. He wanders. He sits on us. He's the most observant bearded dragon we've ever known, and he'll politely arm wave at anything remotely dragon-shaped, apparently trying to say, "I'm definitely not edible... please don't eat me."
He's thriving in his own small way, and that's the only comparison that has ever really mattered.
The only bearded dragon I compare Pip to is...
…..Pip.
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