THE TRIBUNE (New Albany, Indiana) 26 June 08 The house of slitherin’ (Terry Stawar)
It's summertime in Southern Indiana and wouldn't you know it, an enormous snake has taken up residence in the woodpile behind our house. Snakes tend to evoke terror in most of us. Personally, I'm still trying to overcome my fear of pictures of snakes.
The late astronomer Carl Sagan explained our primal dread of snakes in his book “The Dragons of Eden.” Sagan conjectured that early in evolutionary history, humans struggled for survival in the face of fearful reptilian predators and that is the source of our feelings about snakes. Arne Öhman, a psychologist in Stockholm, Sweden, offered some confirmation of Sagan's hypothesis, with his study that showed that people can more quickly and accurately identify snakes than neutral objects. Professor Joseph LeDoux, from New York University says “There are certain stimuli that are pre-wired in the brain because they have been perennially dangerous to our ancestors.”
Even in the Bible one of the first things that the Lord does, is to clarify our relationship with snakes, saying to the serpent, “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers.” I am glad to see science and religion agree that snakes are pretty creepy.
We figure that the snake is here because our dog ran away. After several years on an invisible fence Neuman, our golden retriever, discovered a weakness in the grid and evidently ran away to join his low life coyote buddies. Like the raptors in Jurassic Park, Neuman was constantly sizing up our security measures and made his break when the battery ran down.
I have to admit that I have a whole new appreciation for Newman since he's gone. A few days after he turned up missing, we saw some cute little rabbits frolicking near the car. I should have known this meant trouble. I wasn't really that surprised when my wife Diane, spotted a snake slithering under the lawn chair she got for Mother's Day. After scaring us, the snake retired under a pile of brush we have been collecting since the winter ice storms.
Several years ago in Florida, we had a similar experience. It had been flooding and soon after seeing a field mouse in our garage, Diane discovered a huge snake draped over our washing machine. Before we could do anything, the snake disappears among the boxes and junk that were ever-present in our garage. We were worried that it might bite the kids, who kept their bikes in the garage. I called the sheriff's office and had a long talk with a deputy about how to best smoke out the intruder. He tried to lure it out by vibrating a handsaw, but all that did was give me a headache. The snake was too smart for us and never showed a scale. Before he left, the deputy suggested I might try to stake out a live chicken, a la “Jurassic Park.”
For the next week, we banned the kids from the garage and didn't change our clothes so often. Finally we saw the snake stretched out across the cement floor. It was even bigger than Diane described and I looked around for something to try to nudge it out the door. I found my weapon of choice, a 20-foot tetherball pole, although I would have much preferred a 50 foot one. The ensuing snake fight was more visceral than I could have imagined, but we were soon snake free, at least temporarily. Two other snakes eventually found their way into our Florida house, but we were hopeful that Indiana would be better.
Last week I went to www.getridofthings.com to see what they suggested and unfortunately the description of an inviting snake environment describes our yard perfectly. It has lots of foliage, wood and brush piles, high grass, retaining walls, and an abundance of small tasty varmints. If you went out of your way to intentionally build the ideal snake habitat, it would be our backyard.
So now, short of getting a mongoose, we are doing everything we can to discourage the snake, such as dismantling our wood pile, keeping the grass cut short, and securing our house.
In their book “Snakes of Indiana” Brian MacGowan and Bruce Kingsbury reassuringly say, “Snakes do not actively seek out people and bite them. Given the chance, snakes will almost always try to escape an encounter.” While I appreciate the sentiment, I am still troubled by that one little word, “almost.”
MacGowan and Kingsbury also advise to avoid the head, even when handling dead snakes, since reflexes can remain functional hours after death, and supposedly “dead” snakes have bitten people. Great! Now I have to worry about zombie snakes as well.
We formerly keep our back screen door open, so Neuman could stay on the porch during bad weather. Since we don't wish to extend the same courtesy to the snake, Diane wanted me to fix the door so it would stay shut. Using a rusty old hatchet, I punch a hole on the top of the door to attach a new closer.
While working, I stashed the hatchet on the top of the door frame and promptly forgot about it. When I finally got the door latch together, I decided to see how securely it locked, by vigorously shaking it. You can imagine what happened next. The hatchet immediately vibrated off the frame. I can't decide if this or the time I used the electric hedge clippers on a bush containing a wasp's nest was worse. I could feel the breeze as the hatchet blade whizzed past my nose. Had I been a few inches closer, the hatchet would have buried itself into my cranium. It would've been like one of those celebrated locked-door mysteries. The police would have speculated that it must have been suicide by hatchet, since the screen door was locked from the inside. “But how did he manage to hit himself so hard, right on the top of the head?” they would wonder.
If you compare two tiny puncture holes on your leg to a massive head wound, I think it is abundantly clear, who is really the biggest threat to my well being.
The house of slitherin’