Here it is! I picked up a newspaper and found an article that a snake had bitten a woman when she had the nerve to walk up her front door steps without examining them first. Her own steps!
On top of that, I received an e-mail and picture of a Diamond Back Rattler that was laying in wait in the edge of the woods near a fairway on a Macon golf course. Now I ask you? Who amongst us can be assured of keeping our drive out of the woods always? This sucker was as long as Wilt Chamberlain is tall and at least as big around as the former basketball great. Lucky for the golfers that day, an alert groundskeeper with a two-iron managed to beat his head flat as a flitter before he inflicted his venom into any of the golfers.
Now I know that I stir up the ire of outdoorsmen who think snakes have the right to live, and it is cruel and ignorant to think they should be stamped out just the same as Al Qaeda terrorists should be.
Perhaps, it helps my defense against snakes of the slithering variety if I tell about a childhood incident. When I was about six-years-old, grocery stores would pay me fifty cents to deliver their weekly circulars around town. I was always barefoot in the summertime, and while I was walking up the small concrete walkway to one house, I stepped on a green wiggly snake and jumped straightway upward to avoid being killed. Okay maybe killed might be an exaggeration, but I was terrified and have been that way ever since.
In past Cotton Patch columns, I have made note of the fact that two snake lovers, J. D. and Andrew, have both been critical of my stance on snakes. J. D. said, “Sam, you should look closely at snakes to see what the shape of their head is, or what are the color of their eyes.” In the immortal words of the comedian, Larry “Git ‘er done!” the Cable Guy. I ain’t gonna do that!
Andrew said, “Sam, you ought to get to know the difference in snakes. Most of them are good reptiles.” To my friend, Andrew, I say, “Yeah, sure! An alligator is also a reptile and they eat their young!”
All I ask for is a fighting chance if I see a snake. Give me a gun with some ammo or a long hoe, and perhaps if he could be asleep, I would like my chances.
I don’t have any stuffed animals or fish which have been expertly done by local Taxidermists, because my best weapon has always been my Ford, and I always leave them for the buzzards. However, over thirty years ago, I killed a rattler over five feet long and larger than my arm when he was within striking distance of my small children and my wife. I shot him with my .38 caliber pistol on the first attempt with the only bullet in my pistol, knocking him down. Shaking violently, I missed him with all four of my bullets from my .22 caliber pistol and finished beating his head to smithereens with a shovel. Sometime the next day, when I knew he wasn’t going to come back to life, I cut off fifteen rattles and a button. How do you like that snake talk? They are still hidden in an old unused beer stein.
On top of that, I received an e-mail and picture of a Diamond Back Rattler that was laying in wait in the edge of the woods near a fairway on a Macon golf course. Now I ask you? Who amongst us can be assured of keeping our drive out of the woods always? This sucker was as long as Wilt Chamberlain is tall and at least as big around as the former basketball great. Lucky for the golfers that day, an alert groundskeeper with a two-iron managed to beat his head flat as a flitter before he inflicted his venom into any of the golfers.
Now I know that I stir up the ire of outdoorsmen who think snakes have the right to live, and it is cruel and ignorant to think they should be stamped out just the same as Al Qaeda terrorists should be.
Perhaps, it helps my defense against snakes of the slithering variety if I tell about a childhood incident. When I was about six-years-old, grocery stores would pay me fifty cents to deliver their weekly circulars around town. I was always barefoot in the summertime, and while I was walking up the small concrete walkway to one house, I stepped on a green wiggly snake and jumped straightway upward to avoid being killed. Okay maybe killed might be an exaggeration, but I was terrified and have been that way ever since.
In past Cotton Patch columns, I have made note of the fact that two snake lovers, J. D. and Andrew, have both been critical of my stance on snakes. J. D. said, “Sam, you should look closely at snakes to see what the shape of their head is, or what are the color of their eyes.” In the immortal words of the comedian, Larry “Git ‘er done!” the Cable Guy. I ain’t gonna do that!
Andrew said, “Sam, you ought to get to know the difference in snakes. Most of them are good reptiles.” To my friend, Andrew, I say, “Yeah, sure! An alligator is also a reptile and they eat their young!”
All I ask for is a fighting chance if I see a snake. Give me a gun with some ammo or a long hoe, and perhaps if he could be asleep, I would like my chances.
I don’t have any stuffed animals or fish which have been expertly done by local Taxidermists, because my best weapon has always been my Ford, and I always leave them for the buzzards. However, over thirty years ago, I killed a rattler over five feet long and larger than my arm when he was within striking distance of my small children and my wife. I shot him with my .38 caliber pistol on the first attempt with the only bullet in my pistol, knocking him down. Shaking violently, I missed him with all four of my bullets from my .22 caliber pistol and finished beating his head to smithereens with a shovel. Sometime the next day, when I knew he wasn’t going to come back to life, I cut off fifteen rattles and a button. How do you like that snake talk? They are still hidden in an old unused beer stein.
4 comments:
Please warn me when you are planning to post such pictures!
Surprisedly, I found out after his death, that my dear freind and BIL, James Hill was just as obsessive about them as I am!!!In other words, even a picture causes chills!!!
CV
They are some good snakes, they is called dead ones.
Crow
ooh, I have heard of people finding them in the house... I have to say I might would move.
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