A Serpent, Serendipity, and Sadness

Another vacation day was off to a marvelous start. With two newspapers and breakfast behind me, I saddled up to the chaise lounge on the patio, packing a good book and hot cup of black coffee. Innumerable pages and sips later, my sublime morning peace was suddenly shattered. Josh's incessant, energetic barking could only mean one thing: some kind of animal was in the yard, evoking in my 11-year old golden retriever all his best protective instincts. I strolled towards him, less alarmed than vexed. I expected to see a bird or squirrel, perhaps even a gopher. Instead, I could see that my hound was certainly not crying wolf; a snake lay stretched out on the lawn, its head raised and hissing, its body momentarily immobilized by the barking.

This was no ordinary garter snake, merely awaiting rescue from the dog. This snake was, relatively speaking, huge-- I later measured it at over four feet in length, and two inches in diameter at its widest girth. Its colorings resembled a rattlesnake's, although no mistaken identification was possible since it lacked the trademark rattle and diamond-shaped head. Still, it hissed just as menacingly. Could it bite? Would it suddenly sprint away? Or could it jump and strike me? Pondering these frightful scenarios, the reptile elicited in me the same archetypal response as in my dog: I needed to defend the family.

Out of respect for the creature, the environmentalist in me summoned a modicum of composure with which to more carefully consider the situation. Maybe he's not such a big threat? He's clearly not a rattlesnake. Maybe he's a predator of even less desirable predators? Heck, maybe he'd even make for a good pet? Maybe I should trap him somehow and drive him to a nearby open space preserve?

But my "Born Free" line of thinking soon yielded to an even higher authority: my wife. She implored me, what was I thinking? What about my three year old son, who relishes exploring the back yard inch by inch? What about my one week old infant son inside the house? With the snake starting to angle for the cover of the nearby bushes, I decided that I simply did not want the snake running loose in my backyard. Today's adventure would beckon the Origin of Species, not the Bill of Rights.

Even as I plotted how best to carry out his death sentence, my train of consciousness continued unabated. "You know you'll feel guilty later," a voice inside admonished. Is a snake in my garden a biblical symbol I should heed somehow? Isn't it ironic that this morning's Wall Street Journal featured on the front page a story about the American frontiersman and trapper? Wishing I could simply don a cowboy hat, plink him with a .22LR, and ride my horse into the sunset, I instead armed myself with the pool skimming net, whose extended pole would conceal my trepidation.

The deed was done. But unlike an ant, or mosquito, or even a spider-- whose death fails to command a second thought-- this snake inspired more. What kind of snake was he? How long was he? What does he eat? With those thoughts in mind, and a digital camera full of documentary photos in hand, I headed towards my computer to search the Internet for answers...

In just a few minutes, I found photos with which to ID my snake. He seemed to be a Pacific Gopher Snake. Yes, two more links made me sure. Knowing his name, I could now peruse the plethora of material available on the net. Feeling like a high school student on a science project, I quickly learned quite a bit about my Pituophis melanoleucus cantenifer. Indeed, they grow from 3.9 to over 6 feel in length. I was discouraged to learn that I'd lost a real friend of the yard's: they eat moles, mice, lizards, and, of course, gophers.

The gopher snake is a close relative of the pine and bull snakes, and all are of great benefit to farmers because of the number of rodents they eat. If the snake is threatened and cannot get away, it will face the threat with a flattened head, coil in s-loops, and vibrate its tail. It also inhales a large amount of air so that it looks larger and will release this air in loud hissing noises accompanied by strikes.

This sounded exactly like my experience in the yard. I was relieved to learn they are not a protected species and seem to be perfectly abundant in their natural habitats. On hot days like today, they are usually nocturnal; which in this case would have spared him since my dog is known to be significantly "less vigilant" at night. ;) But another site added to my knowledge in an upsetting way. I learned from the "Reptiles And Amphibians In Captivity Longevity Home Page" that Pacific Gopher Snakes can live a long, long time. One snake in particular was acquired on 1/1/71 "as an adult," and lived until 7/1/93. Uggh. These guys can live to be 20 years old?! That hurt. Abruptly, I logged off; I'd learned enough for now about my snake friend.

Was ignorance bliss but knowledge inevitable? How could the passions which quickly led to my snake's demise also now evidence remorse? If my actions were ostensibly motivated by my children's safety, then why did I already feel embarrassed at the thought of one day telling them? With the suffocating rays of another record-hot summer day already intensifying, my serene morning was indeed gone.

Here are some links to pages on Pacific Gopher Snakes:

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