Trouble is, the newfound fascination obscures what biologists and Mr. Freer describe as a serious problem. In their view, python proliferation — still significant despite a cold winter that might have killed half the population — is simply the sexiest example of widespread disrespect for pets and the wilderness.

Image Bob Freer with a baby ball python. It grows to only four feet and can curl up into a ball. Credit... Maggie Steber for The New York Times

“People need to view exotic species invasions as pollution — biopollution,” said David E. Hallac, chief of biological resources for Everglades and Dry Tortugas National Parks. “In some cases, this form of biopollution can be even more difficult to remedy than chemical pollution, mainly because in most cases, we have no way of cleaning up exotic species from our natural environments.”

Nowhere is the problem more visible than in the open expanse of southwestern Dade County, where tract housing gives way to sawgrass and airboat engines. Mr. Freer, a grandfather who cuts the sleeves off his T-shirts, has lived here for a decade, giving animal presentations to tourists and running a wildlife refuge that doubles as his home.

He grew up in rural New York on a dairy farm with a pet alligator, and he used to live north of Miami with another gator (named Lazy) until his neighbors complained. Now Mr. Freer and his third wife are free to mix with whatever animals they like, and there are plenty.

Near the back of their five-acre property, for instance, sits Rocky, a tiger once owned by a stripper. Buc, an arthritic grizzly bear, lies in a cage next door near the hyenas, Chewy the camel, birds the color of daiquiris, and a lemur from Madagascar whose previous owner pulled out its teeth, so that all its food must now be mashed.