Real Florida: The meal that got away

[Times photo: Ken Helle] Recovering from the alligator attack that resulted in the loss of a leg, Coconut sports a bandage on which a nurse wrote some words of tribute.

By JEFF KLINKENBERG, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published April 13, 2002

While playing with her owner at a retention pond, a light-brown dog named Coconut nearly became lunch for an alligator. But, thanks to her owner, she'll live to be an older, wiser pooch.

On the day before I visited Tony Demaso to talk about his dog Coconut, a beautiful tawny dog with three legs, stitches on her face and a newfound terror of alligators, I felt my old, seasonal urge to go picnicking.

In the spring, I like to load a basket with good Italian bread, black olives, beefsteak tomatoes and sharp cheddar cheese and head for a wilderness park. I like to eat in the shade of an oak and look at the water and the birds and whatever else catches my eye.

As I picnicked, the alligators at Myakka River State Park near Sarasota looked bigger than Buicks. Invigorated by the fine weather, they cruised back and forth like passing freighters. They sunbathed, they cavorted, they lurked. From time to time one would disappear under the black water.

I'm not afraid of alligators, but like turtles, garfish and dogs named Coconut, I don't like to be surprised. Suddenly, as I nibbled an olive, I felt vulnerable. Where was that missing log-sized alligator? Was it creeping along the bottom toward me? Was it going to bolt out of the river, rush up the bank and crash my picnic?

And what was on the alligator's menu?

Of course nothing happened.

But that's how it is in the spring. This time of year Floridians stow paranoia in our tackle boxes and picnic baskets. It's not as if alligators are suddenly looking for a mouthful of picnickers, or even dogs, but the big lizards do become feisty.

They're hungry after the winter's somnolence. They're marking territories and fighting over mates. With all that reptilian drama playing out, it pays to keep your eyes open.

It doesn't mean we can't picnic or fish or even swim. But for heaven's sake, we have to be careful out there.

Leftover dinosaurs

When I arrived at Tony Demaso's house in Tampa, he wasn't home yet and his dogs let me know it. The big black one leaped, snarling at the door. The smaller one, the pretty brown female, barked her head off. When she jumped at the door I saw the fresh bandages.

Tony drove up. He's 34, a Florida native, an FSU political science graduate who is looking for a job in government. He's muscular and athletic and low-key. He's not married, but says he would like to have a family some day. For now, his dogs are his kids.

He dotes on them. He takes them everywhere. On warm spring days, he likes to find a swimming hole for them. Part labs, they're water dogs.

Last year he discovered the new artificial lakes in front of sparkling International Plaza, the ritzy mall in Tampa. He'd take Junior and Coconut to the lakes for a game of catch. Standing on the bank, he'd throw the ball as far as he could. Junior and Coconut would race into the water.

One of them would paddle back with the ball. And then the game could start all over again.

"I love my dogs," Tony told me as I sat in his living room next to Junior and the 3-legged Coconut. "I'd never knowingly do anything to put them in danger."

Years ago -- at least when I was a kid and Harry Truman was president- Florida's alligator population was small, reduced by decades of hunting and poaching. If you saw one, you were thrilled. With protection, the population slithered back. Now biologists say our state boasts at least a million alligators. That's approximately one for every 15 Florida residents.

I'm delighted alligators share their state with us. They make Florida interesting to me. If alligators ever disappear, real Florida disappears with them.

That said, I never forget that alligators are dinosaurs with big teeth and quite capable of making us their lunch. But generally we aren't on the menu. Alligator attacks on people happen about 15 times a year. Only a dozen fatalities have been recorded since 1948.

But if I see an alligator, I don't go into the water. I never swim at night, and I'm especially leery at dusk. I never feed alligators, knowing that it only teaches them to associate food with people. I never feed ducks or other aquatic wildlife, knowing that sooner or later an alligator will show up to eat the ducks.

When we dip our toes into a Florida lake or river we are entering the wilderness. In the wilderness, we're not necessarily the highest link in the food chain.

Thwarting the predator

It happened after lunch on Good Friday. Junior, Tony Demaso's older dog, was tuckered out on the lake shore. But not Coconut. She's 3, still girlish, and couldn't get enough of the game with the ball.

As traffic poured into the mall, she paddled out after the ball.

Tony snapped to attention. Coconut seemed to be struggling. Tony wondered if Coconut's legs were tangled in the weeds or stuck in the mud. Whimpering, she could hardly keep her nose of out the water.

Tony jumped in and splashed toward her. When the water got deep he swam.

As he got close, he saw that Coconut's face was gashed and bleeding. Just before he reached her, the alligator surfaced.

"I'm really afraid of alligators," Tony said. "If I'd seen that gator while I was still on shore, I can't honestly say I'd have jumped in the water. But once I was in the water and close to Coconut, I just acted without thinking."

Tony encircled Coconut with his right arm and swam like mad toward shore. He didn't look back because he didn't want to see what might be there.

When it was shallow enough to stand, he dared a peek. The alligator, an 8-footer, was inches behind. He felt it brush his legs as he carried Coconut up on the bank.

[Times photo: Ken Helle] At this point in his life, Tony Demaso’s dogs are his children. Coconut, left, and Junior are water lovers, but the alligator attack on Coconut has dampened enthusiasm for water sports.

"I could hardly look at her. Her left leg was just dangling there by a thread. I put Coconut down real gently way up the bank and ran for my car."

It was parked near Dillard's. Tony drove back just in time. The alligator was creeping up the bank after Coconut.

"I parked the car between Coconut and the gator. That's when it went back into the lake."

Tony drove to the animal hospital in 12 minutes, running red lights and crying the whole way. The vets tried to save Coconut's leg, but couldn't, and had to do an amputation. A nurse wrote on the bandage "My Dad's My Hero" and drew a little heart.

Coconut seems to be adjusting. Tony Demaso still has the shakes. She's learning how to walk and doesn't seem to be in much pain. She liked to dig holes, but it will be hard now.

"I'll never go swimming again," Tony said as I petted Coconut. "My dogs won't either."

[Times photo: Dirk Shadd] The lake adjacent to International Plaza in Tampa where Coconut was bitten looks serene, an oasis of water and greenery. Beneath that stillness, danger can lurk.

All calm on the surface

I drove to the mall and parked by Dillard's and walked to the lake where the alligator hurt Coconut. A state trapper caught the alligator only hours after the attack, but I wanted to see if there were more.

I saw lots of ducks and turtles -- good gator food -- but no alligators. The place couldn't have looked more peaceful on a nice spring day.

The mall was busy for a week day. I ate a couple of slices of pizza, then looked at the new whiz-bang computers at the Apple store. I bought a birthday gift for my daughter, a glitzy-looking clock, at Brookstone's, a store that also sells nose-hair trimmers. That lake and its prehistoric animals seemed a long way off.

At Neiman Marcus, I visited the women's apparel department and checked out the alligator handbags, made by New York's trendy Judith Leiber. They cost $4,250. Matching shoes by Manolo Blahnik were going for $1,790.

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