SNAKES ALIVE!

It's been my experience that when it comes to snakes, opinions are restricted to two camps: those who love them and those who hate them. Unfortunately for the snakes, the latter group greatly outnumbers the former. I love snakes and don't understand the negative attitude they engender in many people. Contrary to popular belief, they are not slimy, and the vast majority are harmless. When approached they will flee. Imagine moving about your environment, capturing prey, fending off predators, and reproducing - without limbs. Snakes have pulled it off in grand style. Wild-caught specimens can make fine pets, especially king snakes, milk snakes, and corn snakes. But the variety of captive-born reptiles available today is staggering. All things considered, that's definitely the way to go. The large constrictors (boas and pythons) have long intrigued me. My favorite among the giants is the Burmese python. Impressive in size (growing to twenty feet or more), beautifully marked, and generally docile they make magnificent pets. Breeders have produced them in an enticing assortment of colors and patterns. Rare or new forms can be very expensive, costing tens of thousands of dollars. However, a normal Burmese, clad in an array of greens, gray, and browns is a striking creature and very inexpensive. Babies can be purchased at reptile shows for about forty dollars. I wanted to add another Burmese to my collection, and since I already had a normal, an albino was selected. You might think that an albino snake would be pure white but that's not the case. A baby albino Burmese is basically white with tracings of yellow/orange and pink. Hatchlings tend to be "nippy", but outgrow their defensive striking behavior within a few weeks. My little snake (a female) was three weeks old and 18 inches long. A ten gallon aquarium with a screen cover and newspaper on the bottom housed the young serpent. A heat lamp fastened to the cover, a hide box, water bowl, and a rough rock completed the decor. A thermometer and a device to measure humidity were installed. I used a thoroughly rinsed Windex pump spray bottle to increase the enclosure's humidity. The rock served two purposes. Positioned under the heat lamp, it provided a basking spot and would be there for the snake to rub its snout against to begin its first shed. This event occurs shortly after the snake's first meal. I'm sure you noticed that I haven't mentioned the snake by name. I don't name my snakes for two reasons. Snakes don't hear air-borne sounds, or if they do, they hear only very low-pitched sounds. Secondly, they lack the cognitive ability to realize a sound (me saying her name) relates specifically to them. My beautiful albino took her first prey a few days after taking up residence in her new home. She constricted a small mouse (sometimes called a "hopper"), and when it stopped moving, proceeded to swallow it. The sequence of events, from prey detection to ingestion was quick and well coordinated, just like an adult performance. The reptile was ravenous. She moved on to adult mice, then small rats, then adults, then to multiples of the biggest rats I could find. The ten gallon aquarium morphed into a 8' x 4' x 3' custom-made plywood and plexiglass cage. Over the years I handled my Burm regularly. She grew at an astounding rate and I didn't want to eventually have to deal with fifteen feet of muscle, sharp teeth, and nasty attitude. Feeding became a problem; the biggest rats were too small. I needed to provide larger prey animals. A friend came to the rescue. He knew a man who was raising a breed of giant rabbits. I purchased one of the monsters and presented it to my now ten foot albino Burm. When the rabbit entered the cage it was struck immediately. Apparently a rabbit's foot isn't so lucky after all. I'd never imagined a rabbit could shriek as loudly as this one did. People came running from all over the house. They found the scene disturbing, and after voicing their displeasure, beat a quick retreat. So huge was the bunny that having subdued it , I wondered if the snake could swallow a creature so large. To my surprise, after an hour of pushing and pulling and twisting, the rabbit disappeared down the snake's grotesquely distended mouth. There would be no more live rabbits after this episode. I located a pet store that stocked frozen ones and they were the main course from then on. On a diet of two frozen-thawed rabbits a week my snake continued to grow. By her seventh birthday (hatchday?) she measured 15 feet in length and was as thick as my thigh. Big, healthy, gorgeous, and dog-tame - the most impressive animal I've ever had the privilege to keep. Yet, even as I admired her size I realized I would have to give her up soon. The once spacious cage was now inadequate and I had nowhere else to keep her. Eventually, I sold my giant to an enthusiast who devoted an entire room to his snakes. The Python Palace featured sub-floor heating, a large tub, logs and poles for climbing, and a ventilation system. I felt confident that my pet would have a comfortable life there. TOP PHOTO: Having dispatched its prey, the snake begins engulfing the rabbit. BOTTOM: After an hour's struggle, the rabbit has been reduced to a memory and a bulge.



HOGS FROM HELL

In the mid '90s miniature Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs were very popular in the pet trade. The little porkers attained a length of about twenty-four inches and a weight in the vicinity of 35 pounds - or so it was said - and made hearty and docile pets.When we saw them in the store we had to have one. A friendly young female was selected and my wife and I settled on the name Tiffany. Our house sits on three and a quarter acres of mostly wooded land so space was not a concern. Apparently our little pig chose to disregard the size expectations for her species. She began gaining weight quickly and it became obvious that Tiffany was going to be a big, fat pig. She didn't disappoint. But she was a sweet gal, with an engaging personality. Favorite activities included, of course, eating, and having her side scratched. Within a few minutes of the latter activity she would collapse into a blissful stupor. The routine never failed to elicit a chuckle from human observers. We so enjoyed Tiffany that the purchase of another pot-bellied pig was inevitable. The new one, a male we named Scooter, exhibited a temperament markedly different from his female companion. He was, shall we say, agressively self-assertive and I sometimes hesitated to turn my back on the little rascal. Apparently, our trash cans struck Scooter as rivals for the attention of Tiffany because he never tired of pushing them fifty yards through bushes and vines and into a stream.
From an early age Scooter displayed a relentless interest in sex. His attempts to mate with his girlfriend were Quixotic due to the size difference. But he persisted. That autumn Tiffany assumed an even more rotund appearance. In mid-November eleven adorable piglets arrived. As soon as they popped out of mom they were straining umbilical cords to the breaking point. With eyes and nostrils wide open, they were off and running. We loved the babies but didn't have the time or room to take on another eleven pigs. After they were weaned we donated them to a children's petting zoo.
As the months went by Tiffany grew even larger, and Scooter became more aggressive. We took to calling him, only half jokingly, Satan. Soon problems developed. Former homebodies, the pair now took it upon themselves to regularly investigate neighborhood yards. Any not earning their approval were dug up or defaced in more unpleasant ways. My wife and I became social outcasts. Circumstances forced us to the conclusion that, as much as we loved Tiffany and Scooter, we couldn't keep them. Finding them a proper home had us stymied until we met a guy who knew a guy with a horse farm. The farm owner, a kind-hearted fellow, agreed to take in our animals.
I've come to realize some things about pigs. They are intelligent, tough, and strong. Studies indicate they are at least as intelligent as dogs. And with the exception of unneutered males, pigs, at least the breed I kept, are affectionate and playful. What more could you ask for in a pet.

THE LIZARD KING

I have a lady friend I call P.C. ( no, the initials don't stand for personal computer or politically correct) who enjoys keeping exotic pets. At one time she was the proud caretaker of a Golden Marmoset, a boa constrictor, and a skunk. I don't think you can get much more exotic than that. She later developed an interest in lizards. I expected  her first acquisition to be something prosaic, like a baby green iguana. But she brought home an adult water monitor. Native to southeast Asia, they grow to an enormous size. Hers measured seven feet in length and weighed about 50 pounds. Fortunately, the former owner raised it from a hatchling and obviously lavished it with attention because it was dog-tame. "Baby" was housed in a small room with adjoining bath in the basement. Space heaters supplied warmth and florescent tubes, designed for reptiles, provided the light spectrum required to keep lizards healthy in captivity. Baby soon accepted the new environment and spent much of his time soaking in the bath tub. Food, in the form of frozen-thawed rats, chicken laced with vitamins and minerals, and occasionally eggs and fish, was eagerly taken. P.C. interacted with her pet daily, and the two creatures bonded. In fact, the lizard became quite possessive of the woman. I remember a time when I walked past the two of them too closely. Baby produced a threatening hiss and struck me with his tail. Startled, I retreated and examined the welt on my leg. My approach never elicited an aggressive response when Baby was alone.

Panic erupted one fine summer day when P.C. discovered her reptilian friend missing. Somehow, the beast opened the door to his room, navigated the basement, and escaped. A thorough search of the yard and surrounding area produced only a couple of indignant toads and a nervous mouse. The Lizard King was on the loose. A water monitor's behavior changes dramatically when it is outdoors. Survival instincts take command. If approached, it will attempt to flee. If cornered, it will lash out with its tail and bite. Given Baby's size and newly acquired attitude, we were concerned for neighborhood pets and curious children. Days passed with no sign of the escapee but we did get reports of sightings. Knowing water monitor habits and remembering a stream in a wooded area about a hundred yards from P.C.'s house, a plan was formulated. On the stream bank a stake with a piece of chicken tied to it was hammered into the ground. Now we had to wait and see if the big lizard would come to the bait. Several times a day I crept quietly to the trap site. Never have I felt more like Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter. My patience was rewarded one morning, when, as I approached the stream, I saw Baby chewing on the chicken we had staked down. Rushing through the vegetation, I pounced on my quarry. A tough struggle ensued but I avoided claws and teeth and prevailed in the encounter. My opponent scored a few points with his tail, however. I wrapped the thrashing reptile in an old blanket and carried him home. Looking a little sheepish, he slipped into his tub. The door was fitted with a lock and the escape route secured. Lizard and neighborhood could relax.

TURTLE TROUBLE

Slick with sweat, my hands squeezed the steering wheel as I raced helplessly toward the intersection. If I didn't apply the brakes within the next few seconds I would smash into the cars stopped in front of me. My right foot pounded the brake peddle repeatedly but it wouldn't go down. Fate was about to reward an act of kindness with blood and thunder. All right, a little overly dramatic, I know. Here's a more sedate version of the story.
I was driving on US 40 a few years back when I noticed something plodding across the road up ahead. It was a turtle, an Eastern Box Turtle to be precise. And it was about to become a bloody pancake. As an enthusiastic dilettante of herpetology, I had to try to prevent the impending tragedy. I pulled my car off the road and sprang into action. With the speed and agility of a jungle cat I raced to the hapless reptile. Clutching the animal tightly under my arm, I sprinted to safety. And let me tell you, Superman never moved as fast as I did on that fateful summer afternoon. After placing the lucky creature in the back seat of my beloved Camaro Z28, I drove on, planning to release it when I found an area unthreatened by automobiles.
About ten minutes later I came upon a group of cars stopped at an intersection and needed to decelerate quickly. I pushed hard on the brake but it wouldn't go down. A crash was imminent unless whatever was interfering with the brake peddle was removed. Kicking and prodding finally dislodged the impediment and the car jerked to a halt. On the floor I found the turtle I recently rescued. The ungrateful son-of-a-gun had crawled from the back of the car to the front and got stuck under the brake peddle. My act of bravery nearly resulted  in disaster.
Would I do it again? Sure, but in the future I'll keep an old pillow case or a cardboard box in the car to preclude a similar occurrance.

HOW SPARKY GOT HIS LIFE BACK

While doing yard work on a Saturday morning several years ago I spied a small, indistinct lump on the lawn. To my dismay, it proved to be a baby gray squirrel,      so young that it's eyes hadn't opened yet. With the mother nowhere within sight or hearing, I realized the pup was doomed to a slow, unpleasant death. More disturbing yet, it might be killed and eaten by one of the many raccoons or foxes that frequent our yard. I knew keeping native wildlife as pets was illegal but abandonment was a mitigating circumstance here. Fate was generous that day. Our cat  dropped a litter of young a week earlier. Upon introduction, the little orphan was immediately accepted and soon began to nurse. Before long  he began to gain weight and see the world through newly opened eyes. We decided to name him Sparky. Within a few weeks he was weaned onto solid food. He had the run of the house and never grew tired of exploring it. To facilitate tracking, I fitted Sparky's collar with a bell. A favorite game involved scampering to the top of the living room curtains, then sliding down them to the floor. The rescue and nurturing of Sparky has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Visitors describe him as "adorable." Intelligent, curious, affectionate and playful, he became a cherished member of our household. Top left: Sparky mugs for the camera. Bottom left: A curious squirrel perambulates my head. He has indeed found one of the biggest nuts in the world.