Snake in the bedroom!
Feb. 16th, 2007 05:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mad_andyOh God.
This is one of those things that happens occasionally when one keeps animals in containers, no matter how well appointed and comfortable said containers are.
They get out.
It isn't even my snake.
No, Sam The Bastard belongs to my nine-year-old niece. Who, before she left him here, said a tearful farewell, asked him to behave himself and extracted a hand-on-heart promise from me to take good care of him.
A little explanation might be in order here.
When my niece was six, she wanted her own pet. Now, Jessica is a mini-me in all respects except that she has her father's genetics when it comes to her figure, so she should never have my weight issues. That aside, in character and appearance she's exactly the same as I was at her age. (And her younger sister Georgina is a little hellion just like my younger sister was, but I digress.)
Thus she was asked what sort of pet she wanted, and after several week's worth of deliberation she said she wanted a snake, just like Aunty Andrea's.
Well of course I was flattered. She thinks I'm cool because she doesn't know anyone else with an Aunt like me who goes to gigs and has tattoos and keeps weird beasties; this will no doubt become extreme embarrassment when she hits her teens but that's all in the future.
So it just happened that I'd taken on a pair of corn snakes in very poor condition from someone whose son had become bored with them. So I set Jess up with a viv, all the equipment she needed and, of course, a snake.
Sam.
Sam could be a little bolshy, but between myself, Jess and her mum I figured the handling wouldn't be a problem, and anyway, he should mellow out as he got older. Jess could handle Doris on her own (well, supervised - I'm not daft) at that point, and Doris was about four feet long.
However, although Jess did a cracking job of looking after Sam, he became grumpier and ever more difficult to handle as he got older. He discovered that if he whipped his body back and forth very fast he could break the hold of almost anyone who had him, especially if he added a little bite, and then he could run (so to speak) away and hide in Jessica's sock drawer, or the airing cupboard. Or several other places where he gave her dad coronary heart failure when he came across him unexpectedly.
Sam became, in short, a shit. As far as I can discover, he's pretty much unique - his species are renowned for their easy-going, docile nature, which is why I gave him to her in the first place.
But Jess adored him still. Her confidence was shot to hell, so between her parents and myself we came up with A Plan:
I would take Sam on, and Slay and I would buy Jess for her birthday a hatchling corn snake, one that she could handle easily and rediscover her confidence with.
Jess was reluctant; she's had the pet-responsibility message drummed into her pretty well, and besides - no matter how unpleasant, Sam is her snake and she loves him.
But with the lure of a pretty baby snake that she could handle as much as she liked she gave in. So I dragged the three foot tank that's been in the garden for the past two years (I can recommend John Allen aquariums for durability; two years outside, one hour's elbow grease and it looks as good as new. And it doesn't leak. Amazing), purchased a vivarium lid, heat mat (etc, all my spare gear having gone to Jess and of course being kept in anticipation of the day her new snake is big enough to use it) and we were good to go.
Went out last saturday to Pythons Lair, a very good shop near Abingdon, and found a particularly pretty little Carolina corn. (Anerythristic, I discover by having a good poke about the 'net. She's very pretty, anyway - although 'she' could just as easily be 'he' - we're going to take all three corns up to the shop in a couple of weeks to get them all probed and settle the boy/girl question once and for all.)
So. Agreed to pick said snake (now called 'Gismo') up Friday - today - so I had Sam's viv all ready for him. Nic and the girls showed up, with very disgruntled snake indeed inside a pillowcase (great makeshift snake bags) inside a box. From the thumps and hisses emerging from under the cotton I knew this was going to be fun.
Nic handed me the box.
"I got him in," she said, "you can get him out."
Thankfully he'd jammed his head into a corner of the bag, so I was able to retrieve most of him before I had to tackle the sharp end. Which, when it figured out that the bag was being taken off, promptly whipped round and bit me on the nose.
There I am, clutching a member of a supposedly phlegmatic family who's whipping his not inconsiderable body about, mouth open, all but yelling "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR I KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL YOU!!!!"
Stuffed him in the viv, got the lid shut.
These lids are pretty good, but they need the application of a goodly amount of gaffer tape to stop strong, inquisitive snakes (like Sam The Bastard) pushing them off and going for a mooch. Tape had been applied, so I left him to settle down, grabbed wallet and jacket and off we jolly well went.
Had a nice chat with the lady who works there, and the owner; they provide a reptile boarding service, and were in the process of insulating the back room of the shop so the boarders could be moved out there, freeing more space in the small shop. Anyway, I'm going to drop my CV off there, as they'll be looking for part time staff soon - no bad thing.
Gismo staring out the side of the little plastic herp carrier we toddled off. Impeccably behaved little snake; had a mooch, settled herself down and watched the world go by unlike her larger cousin, who'd thudded about trying to escape for the whole journey.
I waved the family off, came upstairs to see what was what and thought 'that viv lid isn't on very str-- oh, shit!'
He'd managed to force the lid up, broken the tape, and escaped.
What the hell was I going to tell Jessica?
Webster, my cat of Very Limited Intelligence, has a soft spot for snakes. They confuse him, but he likes to sit and watch them mooch about their vivariums; not so much in a 'I'm gonna pounce on that!' way, just...watches.
Previously escaped snakes (when I first got Sam, believe it or not, before he was Sam but just 'that fucking snake that can get out of anything' - in retrospect, I should have known) have been discovered by the fact that Webster is staring at a portion of wall/carpet/floor/box/pile of stuff, under which has been discovered the escapee.
So with Webster staring hard at the chest of drawers on Slay's side of the bed I had a pretty good idea of where the escapee was.
Since I began writing this epistle my dearly beloved husband returned from work, and was promptly set the task of moving furniture for me to see if said snake was under it.
Thanks be, he was. Slay moved the furniture only to find a rather startled snake looking back; he wasn't expecting to be busted so easily, that was clear. So Slay, being a big brave soldier, stuck his hand down and retrieved Sam, who promptly went into his bad-tempered-escape-dance. It didn't work, so snake was passed to me whilst Slay put the furniture back and re-taped the lid.
You have never seen so much gaffer tape in your life.
Sam, who actually sat quietly once he figured out he couldn't get loose, was placed back in and the first thing he did? Returned to the corner he'd bust out of, put his nose against the lid and pushed. And pushed and pushed and pu-u-u-u-u-ushed until you could see him trembling with effort, then sat back, stared at it, flicked his tongue a bit.
Then repeated the exercise on the other three corners, then tried the glass. Then had a go at the side of the glass lid to see if he could get enough purchase to slide it back; he escaped from a different viv - as little more than a hatchling, about four years ago - by doing that. Thick he is not, and has a marvellous memory for escape routes.
I've just checked him again, and he's mooching around the tank, occasionally giving one of the seams a push. I swear, if he gets out again I'm going to nail the little bastard to something... still. I'm defrosting a nice big meal for him, so with any luck he'll eat that then go to sleep for a day or two. I intend to keep him stuffed with food if it keeps him happy - mind you, then he'll just get bigger. And he's just shy of five foot now!
In contrast, I might add, my gentle Doris who is about the same size but a little older has never made an attempt to escape. And I spent about an hour just sitting on the bed with her last night, and she sat in my lap, draped over my shoulder, calm and relaxed and happy the whole time. She's a darling - try the same thing with Sam The Bastard and he's off.
*Sigh* But he's back, and I hope to Christ he stays there!
This is one of those things that happens occasionally when one keeps animals in containers, no matter how well appointed and comfortable said containers are.
They get out.
It isn't even my snake.
No, Sam The Bastard belongs to my nine-year-old niece. Who, before she left him here, said a tearful farewell, asked him to behave himself and extracted a hand-on-heart promise from me to take good care of him.
A little explanation might be in order here.
When my niece was six, she wanted her own pet. Now, Jessica is a mini-me in all respects except that she has her father's genetics when it comes to her figure, so she should never have my weight issues. That aside, in character and appearance she's exactly the same as I was at her age. (And her younger sister Georgina is a little hellion just like my younger sister was, but I digress.)
Thus she was asked what sort of pet she wanted, and after several week's worth of deliberation she said she wanted a snake, just like Aunty Andrea's.
Well of course I was flattered. She thinks I'm cool because she doesn't know anyone else with an Aunt like me who goes to gigs and has tattoos and keeps weird beasties; this will no doubt become extreme embarrassment when she hits her teens but that's all in the future.
So it just happened that I'd taken on a pair of corn snakes in very poor condition from someone whose son had become bored with them. So I set Jess up with a viv, all the equipment she needed and, of course, a snake.
Sam.
Sam could be a little bolshy, but between myself, Jess and her mum I figured the handling wouldn't be a problem, and anyway, he should mellow out as he got older. Jess could handle Doris on her own (well, supervised - I'm not daft) at that point, and Doris was about four feet long.
However, although Jess did a cracking job of looking after Sam, he became grumpier and ever more difficult to handle as he got older. He discovered that if he whipped his body back and forth very fast he could break the hold of almost anyone who had him, especially if he added a little bite, and then he could run (so to speak) away and hide in Jessica's sock drawer, or the airing cupboard. Or several other places where he gave her dad coronary heart failure when he came across him unexpectedly.
Sam became, in short, a shit. As far as I can discover, he's pretty much unique - his species are renowned for their easy-going, docile nature, which is why I gave him to her in the first place.
But Jess adored him still. Her confidence was shot to hell, so between her parents and myself we came up with A Plan:
I would take Sam on, and Slay and I would buy Jess for her birthday a hatchling corn snake, one that she could handle easily and rediscover her confidence with.
Jess was reluctant; she's had the pet-responsibility message drummed into her pretty well, and besides - no matter how unpleasant, Sam is her snake and she loves him.
But with the lure of a pretty baby snake that she could handle as much as she liked she gave in. So I dragged the three foot tank that's been in the garden for the past two years (I can recommend John Allen aquariums for durability; two years outside, one hour's elbow grease and it looks as good as new. And it doesn't leak. Amazing), purchased a vivarium lid, heat mat (etc, all my spare gear having gone to Jess and of course being kept in anticipation of the day her new snake is big enough to use it) and we were good to go.
Went out last saturday to Pythons Lair, a very good shop near Abingdon, and found a particularly pretty little Carolina corn. (Anerythristic, I discover by having a good poke about the 'net. She's very pretty, anyway - although 'she' could just as easily be 'he' - we're going to take all three corns up to the shop in a couple of weeks to get them all probed and settle the boy/girl question once and for all.)
So. Agreed to pick said snake (now called 'Gismo') up Friday - today - so I had Sam's viv all ready for him. Nic and the girls showed up, with very disgruntled snake indeed inside a pillowcase (great makeshift snake bags) inside a box. From the thumps and hisses emerging from under the cotton I knew this was going to be fun.
Nic handed me the box.
"I got him in," she said, "you can get him out."
Thankfully he'd jammed his head into a corner of the bag, so I was able to retrieve most of him before I had to tackle the sharp end. Which, when it figured out that the bag was being taken off, promptly whipped round and bit me on the nose.
There I am, clutching a member of a supposedly phlegmatic family who's whipping his not inconsiderable body about, mouth open, all but yelling "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR I KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL YOU!!!!"
Stuffed him in the viv, got the lid shut.
These lids are pretty good, but they need the application of a goodly amount of gaffer tape to stop strong, inquisitive snakes (like Sam The Bastard) pushing them off and going for a mooch. Tape had been applied, so I left him to settle down, grabbed wallet and jacket and off we jolly well went.
Had a nice chat with the lady who works there, and the owner; they provide a reptile boarding service, and were in the process of insulating the back room of the shop so the boarders could be moved out there, freeing more space in the small shop. Anyway, I'm going to drop my CV off there, as they'll be looking for part time staff soon - no bad thing.
Gismo staring out the side of the little plastic herp carrier we toddled off. Impeccably behaved little snake; had a mooch, settled herself down and watched the world go by unlike her larger cousin, who'd thudded about trying to escape for the whole journey.
I waved the family off, came upstairs to see what was what and thought 'that viv lid isn't on very str-- oh, shit!'
He'd managed to force the lid up, broken the tape, and escaped.
What the hell was I going to tell Jessica?
Webster, my cat of Very Limited Intelligence, has a soft spot for snakes. They confuse him, but he likes to sit and watch them mooch about their vivariums; not so much in a 'I'm gonna pounce on that!' way, just...watches.
Previously escaped snakes (when I first got Sam, believe it or not, before he was Sam but just 'that fucking snake that can get out of anything' - in retrospect, I should have known) have been discovered by the fact that Webster is staring at a portion of wall/carpet/floor/box/pile of stuff, under which has been discovered the escapee.
So with Webster staring hard at the chest of drawers on Slay's side of the bed I had a pretty good idea of where the escapee was.
Since I began writing this epistle my dearly beloved husband returned from work, and was promptly set the task of moving furniture for me to see if said snake was under it.
Thanks be, he was. Slay moved the furniture only to find a rather startled snake looking back; he wasn't expecting to be busted so easily, that was clear. So Slay, being a big brave soldier, stuck his hand down and retrieved Sam, who promptly went into his bad-tempered-escape-dance. It didn't work, so snake was passed to me whilst Slay put the furniture back and re-taped the lid.
You have never seen so much gaffer tape in your life.
Sam, who actually sat quietly once he figured out he couldn't get loose, was placed back in and the first thing he did? Returned to the corner he'd bust out of, put his nose against the lid and pushed. And pushed and pushed and pu-u-u-u-u-ushed until you could see him trembling with effort, then sat back, stared at it, flicked his tongue a bit.
Then repeated the exercise on the other three corners, then tried the glass. Then had a go at the side of the glass lid to see if he could get enough purchase to slide it back; he escaped from a different viv - as little more than a hatchling, about four years ago - by doing that. Thick he is not, and has a marvellous memory for escape routes.
I've just checked him again, and he's mooching around the tank, occasionally giving one of the seams a push. I swear, if he gets out again I'm going to nail the little bastard to something... still. I'm defrosting a nice big meal for him, so with any luck he'll eat that then go to sleep for a day or two. I intend to keep him stuffed with food if it keeps him happy - mind you, then he'll just get bigger. And he's just shy of five foot now!
In contrast, I might add, my gentle Doris who is about the same size but a little older has never made an attempt to escape. And I spent about an hour just sitting on the bed with her last night, and she sat in my lap, draped over my shoulder, calm and relaxed and happy the whole time. She's a darling - try the same thing with Sam The Bastard and he's off.
*Sigh* But he's back, and I hope to Christ he stays there!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 10:14 pm (UTC)Sam The Bastard is, as far as we can tell, unique.
Little fucker.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 10:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-17 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 11:17 pm (UTC)And he's just shy of five foot now!
Wait--he's five feet long?! I-I'm five feet long! That's just... Wow.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-16 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-24 02:11 pm (UTC)