Scary Stuff

First, let me start by saying that I’m really not afraid of much in this world.

Second, let me clarify that the aforementioned fear disclaimer is a required preamble for any man about to tell you that something scared him.

In actual fact most men are afraid of a whole long list of things, including but not limited to: impotence; prostate exams; admitting we enjoy watching Sesame Street; witnessing child birth; going hunting with our crazy father-in-law (maybe that’s just me); ghosts; being asked to go purchase tampons; and looking foolish while attempting to fix a mechanical device.

My list also happens to include snakes.

There is something creepy about a patch of grass that slithers out from under your foot just as you are about to step on it.

I don’t have a phobia. I am not paralyzed with fear over the knowledge that three or four slithering reptiles are taking up residence in my yard. On the other hand, the fact that they are harmless garden snakes doesn’t provide me with any comfort. Just because something is harmless doesn’t mean it isn't CREEPY. And creepy things are creepy partly because they are unexpected.

Snakes are only sort of creepy when you visit the zoo or aquarium and walk by a glass wall labelled as a snake exhibit. That’s the kind of creepy that only lasts a half a second. It doesn’t mean you are leery of every other exhibit you appraoch for the rest of the day. They hardly ever have snakes in the Primate Habitat, for example.

When I am walking in my yard I am most definitely not in a frame of mind to be thinking “I wonder if the snakes are around THIS corner”. At least, not until I’ve seen one. Then, for the next ten minutes or so I look carefully with every step. And for the next few days I continue looking carefully when I know I am walking somewhere the snakes are fond of – near the culvert; the south facing concrete step on a sunny day; or the rocky ground by the corner.

During my 3rd year of university I lived in a large, crowded house of students and other miscreants. One of the housemates had a large boa constrictor. Apparently his parole officer didn’t consider the snake to be a weapon. It was fed rats a few times a week. This was deeply disturbing to certain other housemates who had pet rats. Oddly enough, both parties got along with each other better than they got along with the two engineers who lived on the top floor. The engineering students amused themselves on study breaks by graphically describing how the pet rats would be terrorized if they decided to open everyone’s bedroom doors and let out all the pets. Apparently intense studying had a severe impact on their sense of manners. Sort of like how you would expect your sense of smell to be severely impacted if you lived inside a garlic factory.

This is not to say that I have never met a snake that I didn’t like. There was one. I met it last summer. I liked it very much. First it met my lawnmower – accidentally. I never even noticed until later that day when I met parts of it. I never found the entire snake. I believe parts of it served a useful purpose as a shocking reminder to my neighbour that sometimes her small dogs wander a bit too far over the property line.