Suddenly I’m not such a ‘fan’ of snakes

It’s snake season. (Since April, actually.)

Per the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, if you come across a snake, you could/should:

• “Identify it from a distance.” Not sure what their idea of “distance” is. Most people I know would interpret it as: Run to your home, grab some binoculars, jump in a helicopter and look down at it from the sky. They also offer you could check out resources “such as georgiawildlife.com/georgiasnakes”. Not sure how that would work, either. “Let me just take my phone out and … Hey! You need to back up …” 
• If it’s “clearly” identified as a “venomous” snake and in an area where it “represents a danger to people or pets” you can consult georgiawildlife.com/preventing-wildlife conflicts for a list of private wildlife removal specialists. “Oh you’re going to get it now. You just stay right there mister. Miss? Mrs? …)
• “Remember that snakes are predators that feed on small mammals, amphibians, insects and even other snakes. There is no need to fear non-venomous snakes.” In other words, even though it appears they’re sizing you up like a plate of barbecue ribs, even giving indications they’re trying to see how good you taste you by sticking their tongue in and out, there’s probably nothing to it. Probably. More than 600,000 people go missing every year, but it’s probably not the snake’s fault. Probably.
• And finally, “Do not attempt to handle the snake.”

Well, I blew the last one as a teenager. (P.S. Apologies to the fine folks at the Georgia Department of Natural Resources. I didn’t start out thinking: “I’ll write a column making fun of their safety precautions.” I started out thinking: “I’ll write a column about what happened to me – to my family – Sunday because of ‘a’ particular snake, but before I go down that road, let me just offer the reader something of worth instead of just my ramblings. Something they can use in case they encounter a snake.” But then I started reading their tips and being the pompous, arrogant, jerk I am, it just got the best of me. Apologies again, to them.)

Growing up, someone once told me: “If they have round eyes and soft skin, they’re non-venomous. You can handle them. (As if they didn’t still bite.) If they have cat eyes and rough skin, they’re poisonous. Leave them alone!” I guess I should have made fun of them: “What? Am I supposed to handle them to feel their skin, first? Get real close and look them in the eye?” Instead, I just took them at their word and armed with that information I became a snake hunter. (“Crikey!” At least they weren’t alligators.)

I scrounged up some old aquariums, made some pens – the number of escapees a testament to my shoddy workmanship. I searched the woods – old, fallen trees mostly. Lifted boards and such from abandoned houses that had pretty much given up the ghost; and trash piles they had left in the woods behind the house. Drove up and down unpaved roads in the county – from time to time catching one crossing the road. Before long I had a bit of a serpentarium. King snakes. Yellow rat (he came from a pet store). Garter, glass, green, hognose (several), water (brown and banded – mean little suckers), ring-necked, Dekay’s Brown, Indigo. I think that’s the list. (Note: Not to mention a variety of lizards.)

Long story short (not really). I loved snakes. Something about them. Their beautiful colors. The way God knit their unique patterns together – into perfect camouflage in some cases, as bright as a circus in others. Their silky smooth, yet sort of leathery, skin. Attempting to hold them in place in your hands/across your arms and then feeling/witnessing the power of their resistance, and I do mean power. They are deceptively powerful.

“Snakes and me sitting in a tree. K … i … s … s …” Okay, so maybe not that much love. More I never met a snake I didn’t like … Until this Father’s Day. (You won’t believe how far I’ve strung you along just for this. I apologize. Just like a preacher. Use 1,000 words when you could use a small handful.) 

There I was. Most of my children were there – at my house. I had gotten my ties (see last week’s column). It was turning out to be a great day. Until … Me: “It’s starting to feel hot in here.”

I checked the thermostat. Sure enough. It was set on 74 but the reading next to it said it was 77. Yet I could hear what appeared to be the fan working. Later: “Hmm. 78.” Later: “80 … 81 … 82 …” It made for a miserable rest of the day and night. “Well, looks like I have to call the air conditioning people in the morning,” I said early on.

I did. My wife met the technician. He did a quick look around and came to a swift conclusion: “Well, I can see at least one of your problems.” My wife: “What’s that?” Him: “You’ve got a snake wrapped around your fan.”

That’s right. A king snake had coiled, or gotten itself coiled, around the fan – the motor actually – three times keeping it from engaging properly. He paid dearly for his sins of course. He cut him off. The AC went back to working properly.

I’ll add my own little Georgia Department of Natural Resources footnote here: “Snakes have been known to show up in the strangest of places. Shoes. Bathtubs. Sinks. Car engines. One was once filmed crawling into an ATM (true story) and don’t be surprised if your air conditioner is on the fritz to find that one of our fascinating little friends has given you cause for a little ‘free on’.”