Why snakes rock
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Cut for graphic description of snake feeding. They're carnivores, just in case you're unclear.
Snakes rock for two reasons.
The first is exemplified by the California Kingsnake we have, whom Jenny lovingly calls "Lump" for his, well, inert qualities.
Lump really only has one goal in life: To avoid all motion. This usually conflicts with his secondary goal, eating, but he's taken the winter off from eating so he can really get some quality focus in on the whole not moving thing.
And when he's not moving he looks like a big puddle of cookies and cream ice cream (when he is moving he looks like a mobile tube of cookies and cream ice cream). He is beautiful, in my opinion. And that's why he rocks: He sits around making the world more beautiful, and all he asks in return is a couple of thawed mice and not to be poked at too much.
The second reason is exemplified by Jenny's snake, Crowley, a Vietnamese Blue Beauty.
His goal in life, similar to Lump's, is to be left the hell alone so that he can hide under his little piece of cork bark. This works fine, except for when he gets hungry. Recently, he shed and has been prowling for food, in his case, also thawed mice. But, he's a baby, and baby snakes eat baby mice, hereafter referred to as pinkies.
So last night I thawed a few out for him and tossed them on to his cork bark, and then went to bed. But I worried that, maybe, he didn't know they were there, since he was under the cork bark, and seeing through tree bark is notoriously difficult.
I got up, opened the cage, picked up one of the pinkies, and dropped it down next to the cork bark.
And this is the other reason snakes rock: Before the back end of the mouse had touched down, the entire thing had vanished. I had a faint impression of something blue-ish gray, and suddenly there was no mouse, just empty space.
Imagine you're a Mormon elder, and you and your elder friend go and knock on a door. It opens a crack. And suddenly, your friend has vanished. It's not that you see him fly into the house, he's just gone, except maybe for his copy of the Book of Mormon and his shiny black shoes. And you get to just sit there and stare at these indications that, yes, there was somebody standing next to you at one point, but no more. That is the psychological effect of watching a snake in action. It makes my little monkey brain very, very glad that Crowley is just a baby. Because... damn.
There's a line in Jaws describing sharks as nature's perfect killing machine, all they do is swim, eat, and make baby sharks. Well, snakes have figured out how to not even do the swimming part. They just sit there, wait for food, and occasionally go make baby snakes. I keep them as pets because they're beautiful, and to try to reassure myself of my place in the food chain, but last night gave me cause to reconsider.
Cut for graphic description of snake feeding. They're carnivores, just in case you're unclear.
Snakes rock for two reasons.
The first is exemplified by the California Kingsnake we have, whom Jenny lovingly calls "Lump" for his, well, inert qualities.
Lump really only has one goal in life: To avoid all motion. This usually conflicts with his secondary goal, eating, but he's taken the winter off from eating so he can really get some quality focus in on the whole not moving thing.
And when he's not moving he looks like a big puddle of cookies and cream ice cream (when he is moving he looks like a mobile tube of cookies and cream ice cream). He is beautiful, in my opinion. And that's why he rocks: He sits around making the world more beautiful, and all he asks in return is a couple of thawed mice and not to be poked at too much.
The second reason is exemplified by Jenny's snake, Crowley, a Vietnamese Blue Beauty.
His goal in life, similar to Lump's, is to be left the hell alone so that he can hide under his little piece of cork bark. This works fine, except for when he gets hungry. Recently, he shed and has been prowling for food, in his case, also thawed mice. But, he's a baby, and baby snakes eat baby mice, hereafter referred to as pinkies.
So last night I thawed a few out for him and tossed them on to his cork bark, and then went to bed. But I worried that, maybe, he didn't know they were there, since he was under the cork bark, and seeing through tree bark is notoriously difficult.
I got up, opened the cage, picked up one of the pinkies, and dropped it down next to the cork bark.
And this is the other reason snakes rock: Before the back end of the mouse had touched down, the entire thing had vanished. I had a faint impression of something blue-ish gray, and suddenly there was no mouse, just empty space.
Imagine you're a Mormon elder, and you and your elder friend go and knock on a door. It opens a crack. And suddenly, your friend has vanished. It's not that you see him fly into the house, he's just gone, except maybe for his copy of the Book of Mormon and his shiny black shoes. And you get to just sit there and stare at these indications that, yes, there was somebody standing next to you at one point, but no more. That is the psychological effect of watching a snake in action. It makes my little monkey brain very, very glad that Crowley is just a baby. Because... damn.
There's a line in Jaws describing sharks as nature's perfect killing machine, all they do is swim, eat, and make baby sharks. Well, snakes have figured out how to not even do the swimming part. They just sit there, wait for food, and occasionally go make baby snakes. I keep them as pets because they're beautiful, and to try to reassure myself of my place in the food chain, but last night gave me cause to reconsider.