Jamaica’s Hellshire Hills opens the story at first light, where a tagged Jamaican Iguana steps into a narrow band of sun while dog and mongoose tracks crease the sand. Hispaniola’s salt flats follow, with Rhinoceros Iguanas sharing brittle ground with goats, dogs, herders, and school groups. A rediscovery in the early nineteen nineties moves into headstarting: eggs lifted from risky nests, steady rearing, release at a size able to face early threats, and field teams guarding the core. Pressures stack up—free-roaming dogs, cats, mongoose, charcoal pits, quarry roads—so rangers, councils, and neighbors build practical deals, mapped routes, spay clinics, fair patrols, and low-impact viewing. Natural history sits at the center. Big ground lizards warm, browse leaves and fruit, shift to shade, and sleep in cool burrows. Seeds ride through the gut, seedlings ring old rocks, and dry forest structure grows around those daily paths. People give meaning to the work: paid guides keep groups on hard ground, teachers run “no chase, no trash, no dogs,” herders hold goats tight, and simple scorecards keep trust. The path forward uses small, proven tools—thorn-rim exclosures, targeted trapping on refuse lines, softer release pens, narrow corridors, school kits, stove and water-drum support—and clear ten-year targets tied to names and dates.