TW's recent post about her little green snake brought a lot of snakey memories back to me. I have written at least one article and some different comments about snakes in the last few months. I just don't like snakes, I don't care what they eat, how much you love them for a pet; if they come around here they will become a belt or pair of boots. Here's one example of why:
Missouri summers get dark before they get cool. Most of the tack rooms at the saddle club didn't have electricity and absolutely no candles or flame producing lamps allowed in the horse area. The irony is that after we left there, they did have a really bad fire and the whole stable area burned down. So if you are duking and feeding and currying and whatever after dark, it is still warm and you can't see in the buildings. Got the picture?
I was just wrapping up the duking, feeding, currying process when one of the newer members came up to me. I still don't react well to people approaching me unannounced in the dark, especially when they are carrying a shovel. He had something in the shovel and asked me if I knew if this was a poisonous snake or not. I got out a flashlight and examined the corpse. It was a copperhead about three to four feet long and as thick as my wrist. A large snake for a copperhead. I pointed out the triangle shaped head and the pits in front of his eyes...the markings on his face that kinda look like he is smiling at you. They also have a unique attribute, they stink...mildly as individuals but in groups it can be most unpleasant...sort of a snakey cucumber smell...ick. About six inches back from the head the neck was almost completely severed...and there was still a little twitch left in him. After my excellent block of instruction on copperhead snakes, I looked up and my clubmate was looking a little woozy. He told me that he was putting his shovel away after duking out his corral when he heard a ding on his shovel, before he could figure out what it was, it happened again. Some primal instinct took over and he jabbed out with the shovel and apparently caught the snake by the neck on its third attempt. He had no idea how dangerous the snake was.
But Ginger the wonder-horse did, she danced around and snorted and generally acted a fool until we deposited the carcass out in the grassy field behind my corral (heheheee...snake in the grass). In this case, my clubmate created a happy ending and a good snake in one fell swoop.
If you google copperheads, there are a lot of articles about how misunderstood these snakes are, they are really not that dangerous, etc, etc. One of my soldiers was stupid enough to play with a baby...no more that six inches long. It hit him four or five times before he realized it and it cost him a night in the hospital and a struggle to keep his finger. Unhappy ending. Snake in the "grass" or soldier in the hospital? My vote goes for putting dead, smelly, half-severed, "good" snakes in the grass every time.
