Something Wicked That Way Went............

I understand some of you are wanting to know the rest of the story of Max the Menace. It's pretty brief so I'll just call it an epilogue.

Before Max shared his breakfast with me, as it were, we had added another ball python from the collection of an aged herpetologist who became too long in the fangs to care for the snakes he had acquired. Now we had two. We enjoyed our foray into this serpentine world as part of our animal craziness and endless search to appreciate God's creatures which, yes Eddie Bluelights, included spiders.

Our biggest event came when the snake cage lid was left unsecured one night. Both snakes regularly tested its strength and would nose and push against it. That perseverance paid off one evening after we had all gone to bed. The two of them slithered their way to freedom. Our second snake was located fairly quickly the next morning but Max evaded us. Every corner was investigated and all dark places were illuminated. Max was not to be found. We could only surmise he had somehow escaped through an open window or door and headed for more heavily infested rat pastures.

About a month later, while beginning to divest ourselves of rats altogether (Jack - our dear and friendly rat companion had eaten his last piece of cheese - and Jill lived on to spite him), we were moving cages and cleaning in the garage. As Grizzly moved a panel pushed tightly against one wall, there, to our astonished eyes, lay Max. He was coiled comfortably in between a couple of two-by-fours and was living in the wall. Apparently, he had followed the vibrations emanating from the constant scurrying of the rats in the cages and planted himself near a ready food source. Unable to actually access the source of the vibration, he had hunkered down much like a starving urchin child in front of a bakery window. How he navigated his way there will remain a mystery for the ages but we were all glad he had returned if for no other reason than to know where he was at night! We had no concerns for our safety. (No one in this family is in danger of being lightweight enough to become a snake meal.) But, nevertheless, one does not like to imagine the feel of slithering glacial skin gliding against your leg under the bedcovers.

Not long after, it was decided we had exhausted our snake adventures and were ready to move on. We found a worthy home for both our reptile friends, divested ourselves of rats, and closed the chapter of comfortably draped snakes and undigested rodents. No more would I sit at the computer feeling shoulder massages or lurching warnings. But our animal adventures were far from over. And, knowing us, it's quite likely we'll find ourselves boarding a hippopotamus or crocodile. (And I know you'll believe me when I tell you I actually DO have a hippopotamus story.......!)

Happy "Tails" to you!

Copyright 2009

"Something Wicked This Way Comes........"

In case you're wondering what to do today and just can't come up with anything, let me offer you this advice: Do anything except hold a snake right after it eats. I know the risk of this is high. I'm here for you.

I offer this tip from first hand experience. They don't like it.

I have learned quite a bit about feeding snakes. And I have also learned quite a bit about snakes that have been fed. You should probably stop reading at this point.

Goodbye! Have a nice snake-free day!

(Elevator music here.....................)




You're still here aren't you.

Suit yourself but I will not be responsible for the violent illness you are about to experience. Please keep all arms and legs inside the ride until it comes to a complete stop.

Several years ago, being the demented homeschoolers we are and having a sickening and morbid fascination delightful and childlike curiosity about nature, we decided to buy a snake. We had been to the fair and seen ball pythons, and, discovering they rarely bite and don't have big fangs (they're constrictors) we figured this was the three-foot-long, two inch diameter reptile for us.



Twenty bucks later we were picking ticks off a snake.

Yes, that's right dear reader. Did you realize not only dogs get big, fat disgusting ticks but so do snakes? Aren't snakes, in their own dear way, gross enough already?

Well, the answer to that silly query is no, they are not. They can, in fact, become much grosser for a variety of reasons.

We learned about snake ticks through vast internet searches. We always search endlessly about whatever new endeavor we embark upon so we may never have to do actual housework or yardwork again be good and trusted guardians of anything we acquire. Upon discovering snake ticks we also learned how to remove them. You must inspect millions of snake scales while looking through a magnifying glass and checking for little black things attached under said scales. If you are cursed and reviled among women lucky, you will find them. You then use tweezers to pull them off. You must do this for a SNAKE'S comfort and health even though you might be tempted to let your best friend die of tick poisoning before combing through her entire body hunting for ticks.

The next adventure will be getting your snake to eat. Yes, snakes, just like everything else, must take in nourishment. Purina does not make snake food for you to put in a cute little bowl with your pet snake's name emblazoned on the side. (Our snake's name was "Max." My apologies to our wonderful HUMAN friend, Max. It was before we knew you. He was nothing like you. I have never even known you to have fleas, let alone ticks.)

Back to feeding your snake. Where snake food comes from is from rats. That's right. Rats give birth to other rats and, before they are fully grown, you feed those rats to your snake. So, you will have to go to the pet store to buy what they call "feeder" rats. You may feel somewhat squeamish about this but it is, after all, what snakes do: keep rodent populations down. But, occasionally, in the feeding process, problems arise. Some snakes can actually be fearful of live rodents running around their cage and so develop eating reluctance. They can even die if they wait too long to eat. You, therefore, as the pet owner, must take them to therapy where they will lie on very long, narrow couches and tell their therapist about how having ticks picked off of them has made them afraid of EVERYthing. The therapist will admonish you and then advise you to kill your snake's food before you offer it.

That's right. In order to become a qualified and caring snake owner, you may personally, with your own personage, in person, have to kill rats, or at least knock them out. This is simple, the websites all say. Simply grab them by the tail, give them a swing, and bop their heads against something hard. This will knock them out kill them instantly. At that time, lay the soundly "sleeping" rat in the snake's cage and, if given ample privacy, he will consume them without terror to the rat or snake. They claim this is the most humane way rodents are eaten in captivity or in the wild. This seems to make sense and you hate and loathe your husband for ever bringing this stupid thing into the house appreciate the man you've married when he offers to take care of this unpleasant business.

Once your sleepy-time rat is safely ensconced inside your snake's cage, you may find your snake still won't eat. Eating is a very private snake activity, and just as we, as travelers, may experience that uncomfortable feeling of, how shall I say it, public bathroom reluctance, so, in the almost same way, your snake won't eat because then people might actually KNOW he eats and that would be so embarrassing. If this goes on too long, sometimes help is necessary. For your snake, this means using forceps to hold your peacefully dreaming rat, prying open the jaws of your snake, and forcing the issue, as it were. This may be unpleasant but will result in severe trauma for women, children, rats, and snakes successful nourishment for your snake and establish you as a responsible pet owner.

Eventually, our snake began to eat on his own and we no longer had to resort to these draconian measures. But we also needed more rats. Thus, we purchased Jack and Jill. Jack was a pleasant fellow and became our pet. Jill, his brawling wife, chose never to make nice and bit me heartily the first day we brought her home. However, she was prolific. So much so that we sold her offspring back to the pet store on occasion. Rats give birth to LOTS of rats. She often had litters of 14 or more. Max could never keep up. Snakes typically eat only once every week or two. Consequently, Jack and Jill had separate bedrooms.

We came to be quite fond of Max. Love is perhaps too strong a word but we enjoyed his wrapping himself around our arms and moving, seemingly without effort, up our shoulders and around our throats. We tried not to take this personally and only disengaged him when we were in danger of blacking out. Bo was very good with him and "wore" him frequently around the house. The Wild Man was still too young for snake handling or charming (unless snakes are charmed by putting them in your mouth which he tried to do) but found Max's company fascinating. I came to like feeling Max draped over my shoulders and around the back of my neck as I sat typing at the keyboard. (Of course, people thought we were brave and clever incredibly stupid and moronic and we may have lost friends we actually liked.)

And it was in one of these tender snake/owner moments between Max and me that I learned a cardinal rule about snakes: They must have time to digest.

Max had just finished a particularly successful feeding session a few hours earlier when I decided we should have some warm and fuzzy bonding time together. I had work to do at the computer and thought the company would be nice. I picked him up, everyone had a look and some touching and handling, and then I placed him in his favorite position draped lazily dangling around my neck. I took my seat. I wasn't typing very long when I felt him begin to move. This wasn't all that unusual as he wasn't always stationary. In fact, his moves frequently felt almost massage-like and I reveled in the relaxing effect taking place in my shoulder muscles. I smiled. His movements seemed to become more pronounced. More than I had felt before. He seemed to be lurching, in fact. I became paralyzed and stricken dumb with the horrifying realization that this snake could hurl on me concerned.

"Grizzly!" I screamed as though my underwear had suddenly become consumed in an all out conflagration called out. "I think Max is going to throw...............................up."

And at that moment, there for me to behold in all its slime covered rat glory, was our snake's breakfast - every last dead nose, feet, fur, and tail of him - laying on my lap in one whole and intact package.

There really aren't words to describe this particular situation. You can't move or the thing will slide down your legs, and you can't simply sit still with a dead, slimy rat in your lap and a retching snake around your neck. So you just continue to shout out, "Ewww, EWWWW, EWWWWWWWWW!!! while your husband dashes in and hoses down your underwear with the fire extinguisher. Eventually you know he will discover the truth and bring you a paper towel because HE sure as heck isn't grabbing that dead slimy thing off your lap.

Thus, when you are tempted to buy snakes, kill rats, and allow serpents to encircle your throat, refrain gentle reader. Oh, not from the purchase. Ownership is delightful as you can see. But do wait a proper period of say, thirty years or so, before holding your resplendent reptile after he has dined.

Don't say I didn't tell you so because I guarantee you: you heard it here first.

"I'm not about to go out and buy a snake for a pet. I mean, I may have faced a few fears but I'm not insane." Kristen Davis

Copyright 2009

*Photos are stock imges from the internet but are very like our snake.

Observational Twitter 16

Esoteric:

"Beauty is only skin deep." Sir Thomas Overbury

Exoteric:

"Uh, okay. Can I sign up anyway?" Robynn



Bulletin::::::This just in:::::::Libby at Neas Nuttiness is in a HUGE contest to win ownership of a paying blog! Check out her site, read about it, and please send in your vote. I have no idea HOW you get paid to write a blog but apparently it has something to do with the theory of money. I have heard it exists between two leather pieces called a wallet. I keep looking but this revolutionary/evolutionary theory isn't working in MY wallet. All I have is receipts and dust. I'm pretty sure the only thing green in there might be mold.




Copyright 2009

Pig Deal

I have acted like a pig.

I have eaten like a pig.

I have EATEN a pig.

I like Miss Piggy.

I have an all-time favorite movie about a pig.

I have an all-time favorite book about a pig.

I've been to football games where they toss around a pig skin.

I used to be married to a man who behaved like a pig. (Sorry, pigs everywhere, that wasn't fair.)

(Not my actual first husband. This guy looks much nicer, is a snappier dresser, and probably never held a loaded gun on his wife - and that's not even what I divorced him for!)

I have wished we had a store named "Piggly Wiggly" just because it's fun to say.

I have even played, "This little piggy went to market" (but I didn't actually eat the toes).

However, I have never, nor do I now, want anything to do with THIS pig.

Hollie Steel - Britain's Got Talent - Show 3

Very busy day today and my regular posts are delayed, but I did see this last night and wanted to put a smile on your face today. It even gave me chills. Don't you just love it when you get chills and it's not because you have a 105 degree fever or aren't in danger of hypothermia from being stranded roadside in the snow wearing only your swimsuit and flipflops? Oh, maybe that's just me.

I just consider those things to be such a bonus.

And the second wave of chills almost seems greedy (but I got them!)

Feel good moment of the day....here it comes.....go forth and SMILE!

Danny MacAskill

Anyone who does something this well deserves to be appreciated.

I'm doing well to point my bike down the street and stay upright.

I first saw this on The Glass Dragonfly from my friend, Kelly, and I had to pass it along.

The guy is truly amazing as a cyclist and athlete, and the amount of perseverance it took to achieve something of this magnitude inspires me. I think I might know a few boys who imagine these feats when riding. If you're a mom of boys, you may as well. When I watch this I can't help but see poetry, dance, and art. I love beauty in any form. And excellence is always beautiful to me.

The bio from You Tube says this:

"Filmed over the period of a few months in and around Edinburgh by Dave Sowerby, this video of Inspired Bicycles team rider Danny MacAskill features probably the best collection of street/street trials riding ever seen. There's some huge riding, but also some of the most technically difficult and imaginative lines you will ever see. Without a doubt, this video pushes the envelope of what is perceived as possible on a trials bike."

Credit to Band of Horses for their epic song "The Funeral."

Have a blessed Sunday!

Seriously....This is a Disease

Just one more and then really, I have so many other things to do. And tell you. And show you. But I just had to run this one past all y'all. Isn't that irritating when people from California say "y'all?" And I'm not even from Bakersfield.

So last night, I got out the DVD series that my dear friend, Teresa, loaned me. (Sorry Teresa! I know it was only TWO MONTHS ago but I had to read those books you loaned me first!)You've seen Teresa's name pop up here if you read comments. She even actually KNOWS me so right there is proof I have friends in real life. And she still comes around here. Which also shows you my friends might be as mental as I am.

Bo had been away for four days at Disneyland/Huntington Beach on her senior trip - with hey! Teresa as one of the chaperones and planner/coordinator extraordinaire - and now she was home and I was glad because I was MISSIN' her. I let her sleep until 1pm, then The Wild Man and I hunkered down to listen to all the fun details of her trip. Afterwards I paid bills, ordered a year book for her, shopped graduation announcements, worked on plans for her graduation party, sent out save-the-date emails, blogged, and then at some point, drew a breath and had an epiphany (it's like a baby but it hurts a lot less): "We gotta watch 'The Waltons' or Teresa's gonna kill me!" I mean, I'd been wanting to watch it but couldn't figure out when.

My kids have never seen it so I envisioned this tender family moment wherein midwest, depression-era values, and bonding, and all things good would be emulated and modeled for us on screen. From a writer's perspective. With Richard Thomas playing "John Boy," the writer/narrator. Bo wants to write. This would be so meaningful to her. I could feel the mother/daughter bonding being born at that very moment from my own body. It was so real I nearly nursed it, diapered it, and stuck it in a crib.

"Doesn't that sound good?" I inquired of my dual progeny. The hairy-legged child had to be pulled off "Guitar Hero" with the Jaws of Life and the girl who had just arrived from "The Happiest Place on Earth!" wasn't all that happy. She was missing her fun friend time and unbridled freedom. The bosom of her family was a poor second to the thrill-a-minute world from which she had recently transported. She also wanted to read a book while we watched. It's good to be loved.

And then there's me with possible ADD issues. (Thank you, Sharon, my dear follower friend. Your check for analysis is in the mail. You may be on to me.) The very second Richard Thomas's face loomed onto the screen I started doing it. "Look at that smile........who IS that?" This one didn't take me long. Hands down, it was Scarlet Johanson. Is Richard Thomas her father, Luke?

Again, I say, YOU be the judge.

Look at the TEETH! The nose! The shape of face! Okay, so she plucks her eyebrows. Work with me.


Alright, that's it. I'll leave you alone now. It may be that you actually have to see the lift of his head as he smiles over the pool table at Ike Godsey and the Sheriff. You might have to rent the very first episode of The Waltons. You might have to take an Excedrin after reading this and wonder what in the world you were thinking when you decided to hang out with me. Go back to your lives as they were before I tried to infect you. If you haven't caught it, run away. It is terminal. I'll live with it until I die. If I bug anymore people, that might be sooner rather than later.

Copyright 2009