They slither beneath fences, sunbathe near canals, and vanish into burrows before you know they’re there. South Florida is now ground zero for the rise of the Argentine tegu—a powerful, exotic reptile reshaping the state’s ecosystems one egg at a time.
From Backyard Curiosity to Ecological Nightmare
The Argentine tegu didn’t sneak into Florida in the dead of night. It came legally, through pet shops, reptile expos, and backyard breeders who sold the black-and-white lizards as docile, manageable companions. But as these five-foot-long reptiles outgrew cages—or escaped them—the state’s wild spaces became their new territory. By the mid-2000s, they were spotted darting across roads, lurking along canals, and digging into preserves.
Now, they’re no longer a curiosity. They’re a crisis. According to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC), more than 10,000 tegus have already been captured in Florida, with hotspots in Miami-Dade and Charlotte counties. But recent sightings are pushing westward—into Fort Myers, where 21 have been reported, and Cape Coral, with another 20. Eleven have turned up in Naples. And experts believe those numbers are just the tip of the tail.
“These animals have no natural predators here,” says the FWC. “They reproduce rapidly, and their populations are expanding beyond their original ranges.” Each female can lay up to 30 eggs per year. They reach maturity in two to three years. And they can live up to two decades in the wild.
The Egg Thieves of the Everglades
The problem with tegus isn’t just their size or stamina. It’s their appetite—and their target menu. Tegus are opportunistic omnivores, happy to eat anything from fruit to roadkill. But in Florida, they’ve developed a dangerous taste for eggs—especially those of species already teetering on the edge.
“They’ve been documented consuming American alligator eggs,” the FWC reports. “And they’ve also been seen preying on gopher tortoise hatchlings, American crocodile nests, sea turtles, and the eggs of ground-nesting birds.”
Those aren’t just any species. Many are protected, endangered, or keystone animals that hold entire ecosystems together. The gopher tortoise, for example, digs burrows that shelter hundreds of other species. When a tegu raids one of those nests, it’s not just one life at risk—it’s a whole community.
Some tegus dig their own burrows, but many prefer to steal ones already carved out by native species. That makes them especially threatening in preserves and protected lands, where ground-nesting wildlife used to be safe from predators. Not anymore.
From Swamps to Suburbs and Now Toward Your Crops
As frightening as the ecological impact may be, biologists and farmers are now eyeing the next chapter: agriculture. According to the University of Florida’s agriculture extension program, tegus may soon transition from wildlife threat to crop menace.
“In southern Florida, they occur in densely vegetated areas along canals and roadsides,” the UF report says. “They could potentially become a source of bacterial contamination for food crops. And their digging behavior can damage roots and destabilize fields.”
If that happens, tegus won’t just be a wildlife problem—they’ll be a bottom-line problem. Florida’s produce industry is a multibillion-dollar economic engine. Even the suspicion of contamination could devastate harvests, shut down farms, or trigger food safety recalls. Worse, these lizards don’t recognize county lines. Tegus have already been spotted in Georgia, and experts warn they’re equipped to thrive across most of the Southeastern U.S.
They’re unusually tolerant of cold. Unlike other invasive reptiles, they hibernate during winter in deep burrows, then reemerge when it’s warm. That gives them a geographic range far broader than anyone initially feared.
Fighting Back Before It’s Too Late
So, what’s the plan? At the moment, it’s all about alerts and action. The FWC is urging residents to report any sightings of Argentine black-and-white tegus. If you spot one on your property, call 1-888-483-4681.
The problem, however, is that tegus are surprisingly stealthy. Their black-and-white speckled skin lets them blend into Florida’s palmetto scrub, canal edges, and thick roadside brush. By the time they’re seen, they may already have established nests. One tegu isn’t a problem. One pregnant female, however, is the beginning of a colony.
Wildlife control teams are racing to remove as many as possible, but the pace of expansion—and the sheer reproductive power of the species—is daunting. Officials say containment is still possible, but that window may be closing.
Also Read: How Arhuaco Youth Are Using VR to Protect Colombia’s Sacred Heart
Florida has been here before. With Burmese pythons. With lionfish. With cane toads. Each time, the problem started small. Each time, the consequences ballooned. The Argentine tegu might be the next name on that list unless awareness—and aggressive intervention—comes quickly.
In the meantime, they’re out there. Breeding. Hunting. Digging in.
All quotes and reporting credited to Chad Gillis, Fort Myers News-Press.