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OK, so this is getting way off-topic, but couldn't resist throwing in my
own snake saga...years ago, I moved to Miami, which was probably a good
idea considering that I was working as a whale/dolphin trainer at the
Miami Seaquarium at the time. Some friends invited me out for a hike in
the Everglades, and unsuspecting fool that I was, I said OK. Once we're
out there, I notice I'm the only one in sneakers, shorts and a tank top
(California Kid that I am) instead of long pants, long sleeves, boots,
mosquito netting, enough chemical repellent to defoliate the Northwest
and spare fuel tanks for the flamethrowers.
Discovery Number One: Mosquitoes in the Everglades are not only
large enough to show up on Doppler radar, they have no sense of
decency and to them, you are just another food group. I had over three
hundred bites when I got around to counting them. At least a hundred of
them were in places that I wouldn't be willing to display to anyone who
was not either a VERY close friend or my OB/GYN, who at least can be
trusted not to giggle.
Discovery Number Two: Never go hiking outside city limits with 1) a
herpetologist and 2) a wildlife biologist. I was walking first in line,
looked down and noticed (keen observer that I am) that I was about to
step on a rattlesnake. I couldn't backpedal, so instead took a giant
step OVER the snake who, apparently being what passes for ambidextrous
in snakes, had no problem at all with turning around and biting me
enthusiastically on the back of the leg instead. And then gave me a
look that made me glad he didn't have a middle finger.
Do I get instant sympathy, first aid, offers of comfort and succor from
my biologist friends? Even a cold beer or maybe just first dibs on the
bag of chips? Heck, no. True to form, both of these bona-fide Children
of Science (now I'm one, too, so I'm allowed to make fun of them)
scamper up in excitement, gaze in wonderstruck awe at the snake and
exclaim, "Oh, look! A pygmy rattler! What a beauty!" When I suggest
they kill it (delivered in a high-pitched, screechy, panicked shriek
while clutching my ankle and wondering if eyes could actually physically
pop out of my skull if blood pressure was high enough), they both look
horrified at the very thought of such a Waste of Nature's Beauty. And
after all, it wasn't like they had brought formaldehyde or a speciman
jar with them. How silly of me.
Well, obviously, I survived the Great Attack, and by the way, discovered
that it is in fact possible (though not recommended) to throw up hard
enough and often enough to be able to just about examine your own liver.
I run into snakes all the time out here (happily long since back in
Calif) and Cato just takes them as a Cross-Country Obstacle and vaults
them. However, he also likes to vault two inch ditches, pieces of
gravel, his own hoofprints and anything else on earth larger than a
breadcrumb, so maybe jumping snakes is just a convenient excuse for
waking Mom up.
Sorry, Steph. Back to endurance.
Susan Evans
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