NEWS-LEADER (Springfield, Missouri) 06 November 10 Death of Fluffy the python leaves behind lengthy trail of memories - Reporter recalls tangling with world's longest snake, feeling every hefty pound. (Wes Johnson)
[Photo at URL below]: Reporter Wes Johnson once mingled with the world's largest snake at the Kansas State Fair. The 24-foot-long reticulated python, Fluffy, proved to be too massive for a mere man, causing Wes to topple. Fluffy died last week at the Columbus Zoo in Ohio at the age of 18. (Wes Johnson)
One of the first things I do when I get to work in the morning is zip through the Associated Press wires looking for stories that might land on my beat.
Among all the terror bombings, political mud-slinging and natural disaster reports last week, one small blurb caught my eye.
The world's longest captive snake -- a reticulated python 24 feet in length -- had died at the age of 18 at the Columbus Zoo in Ohio.
I instantly recognized the name. It's hard not to when a 300-pound constrictor reptile goes by the ominous-sounding moniker of "Fluffy."
Now, it's not unusual for a reporter to get wrapped up in a good story.
And that's exactly what happened to me while on assignment to cover the Kansas State Fair at my previous newspaper job.
Fairs are great places to find oddball stuff, and a world-record snake stretched out next to the funnel cake and cotton candy stands, well, what reporter would pass up a story like that?
I met Fluffy and her owner at their display area next to the miniature goat pens -- that'll figure into the story shortly -- and we and four other guys proceeded to lug the docile beast out of her cage and onto a sunny, grassy spot in the middle of the fairgrounds.
Fluffy -- as big around as a telephone pole -- was cool to the touch and easily manageable.
The owner recalled how he grew Fluffy from a mere wisp of a baby snake. The reptile always had a healthy appetite, he said, and, fortunately for me, was well accustomed to human handling.
With little else to do over the years but eat pigs and rabbits and grow, Fluffy happily obliged.
A minute later, I got to experience how much.
The owner's assistants hoisted the sluggish snake onto my shoulders for a photo-op, and I sagged beneath her massive weight.
The owner explained how Fluffy could easily dislocate its jaws and swallow a whole dog or pig, maybe even something bigger.
The comment, I considered, was timed for maximum effect.
As cameras recorded the strange scene, something unsettling happened to Fluffy.
The hot Kansas sun caused the snake to emerge from her chilly stupor. Her belly plates rippled rhythmically, digging into my shoulders like some bizarre reptilian massage and propelling the snake forward.
All 300 pounds of Fluffy was suddenly on the move.
I'm a pretty stout guy, but when Fluffy slithered her huge midsection across my back, I couldn't hold her. Handlers quickly moved in to separate us as snake and reporter began a slow-motion tumble to the ground.
The crowd gasped. Fluffy huffed and hissed. And at that point I'd had enough of the biggest snake in the world.
Oh, about those miniature goats.
A few days later, a few of the cute little nibblers vanished from their petting-zoo pens, never to be seen again.
Had they become a late-night Fluffy snack?
Never did figure that one out.
Death of Fluffy the python leaves behind lengthy trail of memories