Snake-sitting summer
I've had some strange summer jobs. Probably the weirdest one of all was snake-sitting. It was a duty of obligation, not a paid position.
The pet owner snake was my brother's friend, and he'd caught the snake slithering through the grass down by the pony corral. Gavin opened the box, and I looked inside. The green garter snake was less than a foot long. I eyed it warily.
"What does it eat?" I asked.
"Hamburger," said Gavin, and then, when he saw my puzzled look, added "raw hamburger."
"You have to open it's mouth, like this, said Gavin gravely, and push in some hamburger, like this." He demonstrated and I shuddered.
"It's not nice to force feed it," I said. "What if it's not hungry?"
"Snakes have no teeth," explained Gavin kindly. His tone suggested he was speaking to a simpleton. "They have to swallow things whole."
Just like I have to swallow your stupid explanation whole, though it is probably wrong, I said to myself. I was about fourteen, a couple of years older than Gavin, and thought I knew a lot more than this kid. But I was working for his mother, as a groom in her riding stable. I loved this job, and I wanted to keep it. I thought I'd better be nice.
For the next two weeks I fed the snake raw hamburger, morning and night. When Gavin returned from Manitoba it was alive and well. But summer was drawing to a close, and he was getting bored with the snake. As undoubtedly the snake was getting bored with living in a shoebox and being force-fed raw hamburger.
"I think I'll set it free," Gavin said one morning. We both watched as he tipped the cardboard box down toward the grass. The snake slithered from the box and was gone in a flash of green. I was relieved to know that I'd fulfilled my duty and glad the snake had endured its captivity and was free again.
The pet owner snake was my brother's friend, and he'd caught the snake slithering through the grass down by the pony corral. Gavin opened the box, and I looked inside. The green garter snake was less than a foot long. I eyed it warily.
"What does it eat?" I asked.
"Hamburger," said Gavin, and then, when he saw my puzzled look, added "raw hamburger."
"You have to open it's mouth, like this, said Gavin gravely, and push in some hamburger, like this." He demonstrated and I shuddered.
"It's not nice to force feed it," I said. "What if it's not hungry?"
"Snakes have no teeth," explained Gavin kindly. His tone suggested he was speaking to a simpleton. "They have to swallow things whole."
Just like I have to swallow your stupid explanation whole, though it is probably wrong, I said to myself. I was about fourteen, a couple of years older than Gavin, and thought I knew a lot more than this kid. But I was working for his mother, as a groom in her riding stable. I loved this job, and I wanted to keep it. I thought I'd better be nice.
For the next two weeks I fed the snake raw hamburger, morning and night. When Gavin returned from Manitoba it was alive and well. But summer was drawing to a close, and he was getting bored with the snake. As undoubtedly the snake was getting bored with living in a shoebox and being force-fed raw hamburger.
"I think I'll set it free," Gavin said one morning. We both watched as he tipped the cardboard box down toward the grass. The snake slithered from the box and was gone in a flash of green. I was relieved to know that I'd fulfilled my duty and glad the snake had endured its captivity and was free again.