This is the third lizard in our house. Not because the others broke — no, they’re still around, lurking under furniture — but because these things somehow keep multiplying like they own the place.
This time it’s the Series 3 orange one, with a frilled neck and a glowing LED mouth. It looks like something from a post-apocalyptic cartoon, and of course, my kid is thrilled. Me? Less so.
It Runs, It Glows, It Scares the Dog
Flip the switch and this little guy blasts off across the floor. Its hind legs kick like it’s training for a sprinting championship, and that glowing mouth? Genuinely unsettling in low light. Add in the frill that flares out when it moves, and it’s like a battery-powered jump scare waiting to happen.
To stop it, you tilt its head up. The first time it worked, it was fun. The second time, practical. The third time, I was just grateful it had a “pause” function at all.
One of the more memorable moments: we accidentally left the lizard on in the hallway. Grandma came over, and just as she walked in, it launched itself at her feet, frill flared, lights flashing. She didn’t fall, thankfully, but she did say something about it being “a good heart stress test.”
The kids laughed for a full week. I did too, eventually. Now we keep the lizard in the top drawer — just in case it gets any ideas.
Inside the box: the lizard. That’s it. No batteries, no nonsense. Just the toy and a warning about small parts — so definitely not for toddlers. It runs great on smooth floors like tile or hardwood, but don’t expect much on carpet or outside.
It’s noisy. Not sound-wise, but mechanically — that buzzing sprint sound isn’t exactly peaceful. At 8am, it’s more effective than coffee.
Would I Buy It Again?
Honestly? Probably. My kid is actually playing — not scrolling, not zoning out. He’s laughing, running, and pretending to be some kind of reptile hunter. And that’s worth the chaos.
Even if I have to explain to guests why we store robotic animals next to the silverware drawer.