The giant snakes are coming. Look unappealing.
So thanks to irresponsible pet owners, poorly-built cages, and global warming -- a positive trifecta of Things That Are Not Very Good -- North America is about to have a starring role in the single best low-budget horror movie ever made. I'm talking about that inevitable Science-Fiction Channel thrill-fest...
Giant Snakes Eat Everything. (coming soon to a television set near you, unless you don't like snakes, in which case, coming soon to a series of horrible, soul-crushing nightmares near you)
Seriously. So many people have released their unwanted Burmese pythons into the wild that they've established breeding populations in multiple states, and are now happily colonizing the bottom third of the country. These are some big snakes, people. They don't usually reach the lengths of twenty feet implied by the article -- that's an excessively large python -- but they're not tiny. Some of you may remember my Burmese python, Adric. Well, when Adric passed away*, he was a little over fifteen feet in length, and capable of causing me extreme discomfort when the urge came upon him. He was well past the size where I could clean his cage on my own; it required at least one, and occasionally two people to help me handle the snake while the scrubbing happened.
(This was cleaning the cage, mind you. For cleaning the snake, I needed a bathing suit, a loofah, and someone to play spotter while my python and I had a lovely shower together. He thought it was lovely, anyway. I thought it was paying proactive penance for evil deeds which I might perform later in my lifetime.)
The article linked here includes the following helpful advice:
"If you see one, don't attempt to engage it. Leave the area, note the location and notify the authorities."
...yeah, because the authorities are going to have such a good idea of what you should do when a giant snake decides to slither into the back yard and sun itself on the deck. Not being Florida, land of alligators pulling the same stunt, or Australia, land of every damn thing with scales eating your dog, the authorities are not going to have a clue. They're going to flail. So I suppose if you see a giant python slithering merrily along the bunny trail (or any other trail), you should do the following:
1) Do not look like food.
2) Throw any small dogs, rats, or chickens which you happen to be carrying to the snake.
3) Continue not to look like food.
4) Call me, as I will be happy to come and get the snake, give it many hugs, and put it someplace less menacing.
Eventually, people are going to take a lesson from the horror movies of the 1980s and realize that anything can become a scary-ass menace when you release it into the wild. And, y'know, give it easy access to toxic waste. But I'm sure that part's coming, real soon...
(*He was killed by a rolling blackout caused by people using too many Christmas lights during the California electricity shortage. He froze to death before we could get the heat back on. And that, friends and neighbors, is why blondie isn't a big fan of Christmas lights.)
Giant Snakes Eat Everything. (coming soon to a television set near you, unless you don't like snakes, in which case, coming soon to a series of horrible, soul-crushing nightmares near you)
Seriously. So many people have released their unwanted Burmese pythons into the wild that they've established breeding populations in multiple states, and are now happily colonizing the bottom third of the country. These are some big snakes, people. They don't usually reach the lengths of twenty feet implied by the article -- that's an excessively large python -- but they're not tiny. Some of you may remember my Burmese python, Adric. Well, when Adric passed away*, he was a little over fifteen feet in length, and capable of causing me extreme discomfort when the urge came upon him. He was well past the size where I could clean his cage on my own; it required at least one, and occasionally two people to help me handle the snake while the scrubbing happened.
(This was cleaning the cage, mind you. For cleaning the snake, I needed a bathing suit, a loofah, and someone to play spotter while my python and I had a lovely shower together. He thought it was lovely, anyway. I thought it was paying proactive penance for evil deeds which I might perform later in my lifetime.)
The article linked here includes the following helpful advice:
"If you see one, don't attempt to engage it. Leave the area, note the location and notify the authorities."
...yeah, because the authorities are going to have such a good idea of what you should do when a giant snake decides to slither into the back yard and sun itself on the deck. Not being Florida, land of alligators pulling the same stunt, or Australia, land of every damn thing with scales eating your dog, the authorities are not going to have a clue. They're going to flail. So I suppose if you see a giant python slithering merrily along the bunny trail (or any other trail), you should do the following:
1) Do not look like food.
2) Throw any small dogs, rats, or chickens which you happen to be carrying to the snake.
3) Continue not to look like food.
4) Call me, as I will be happy to come and get the snake, give it many hugs, and put it someplace less menacing.
Eventually, people are going to take a lesson from the horror movies of the 1980s and realize that anything can become a scary-ass menace when you release it into the wild. And, y'know, give it easy access to toxic waste. But I'm sure that part's coming, real soon...
(*He was killed by a rolling blackout caused by people using too many Christmas lights during the California electricity shortage. He froze to death before we could get the heat back on. And that, friends and neighbors, is why blondie isn't a big fan of Christmas lights.)