People often ask me if I'm ever bitten by snakes during my field outings. I'll give a presentation on salamanders and afterward, someone will ask me if I've ever been bitten by a snake. I guess it's a burning question. As I've explained many times before, if you are going to pursue snakes, you're going to be bitten. And it's not a big deal. I know a few beekeepers who love their hobbies/jobs and so they are able to brush off bee stings as if it were a mere mosquito bite. It's just part of the package. So yes, I have been bitten by snakes far too many times to recall. During certain times of the year, it's at least a few times a week.
Most of the bites are painless, drawing little to no blood. Some are somewhat uncomfortable. Very few I would have considered painful. Until 2001, the worst bite I ever received came from a large, likely gravid female common garter snake. She was one of a mass of writhing snakes crammed into a small glass aquarium at Fishing Schooner on Irving Park Road between Elston and Kimball. I asked an employee if I could hold one of the snakes, and the employee obliged. Not long after I had my hands on the biggest, fattest snake, the snake bit into the webbing between my thumb and index finger on my right hand and thrashed about, something I had never experienced with a garter snake prior. It took a minute or so to carefully pry her off, as I was working around the blood and several teeth that she shed into my flesh. As a thirteen year old kid, the experience was disheartening and I elected not to buy a garter snake that day. Little did I know that years later, that experience would become dwarfed by a more memorable incident.
In 2001, I was in my third year working at a pet store that specialized in tropical fish and exotics - it was year one as manager of the reptiles/exotics department. It was an era during which herpetoculture was growing exponentially due to several popular television shows and things like that. But it was also during a time before social media (as we know it), Craigslist, and all of the outlets by which many people buy, sell, trade, and rehome animals. So when people got tired of their pets, they would often bring them into the store. One day, a polite English woman came in and asked if I would be interested in a Burmese python. She told me she was moving back to England and couldn't take it. So without any questions asked, I told her, sure thing.
A couple of days later, the woman and her body-building boyfriend pulled up in front of my house. The boyfriend opens the back of the SUV and slides a 75-gallon aquarium out and carries it into my living room unassisted (it was impressive). In the tank was a large, writhing bag. "His name's Jake", the woman said in her thick accent. The snake let out an exasperated hiss. "He hisses a bit."
"Yeah, big snake", grunted the boyfriend, reminiscent of a caveman.
In minutes, they were off, never to be seen or heard from again. And there I was, looking down at the large glass aquarium, intimidated by what was in that bag. It was a lot larger than I expected.
I dragged the aquarium into my room and carefully opened the bag and slid the python out. It was an albino, clad in eye-catching oranges and yellows. I estimated it was about eleven feet in length. Far too big to be in a four-foot aquarium.
I began to have buyer's remorse.
After letting the snake settle in a bit, I was tempted to handle it. I dropped a towel on its head in case it was defensive and then hefted it out. This was a very heavy and very strong snake, stronger than the eight-foot boa constrictor across the room. But it was placid, and it was clear this snake was loved by its former owner. It wasn't long before this snake became one of my favorites.
The snake inspired me to write a poem about it for a writing class I was taking at the time. My professor was impressed with it and suggested that I try to publish it somewhere other than the college's arts journal. Young naive Joey submitted it to the International Library of Poetry, the not-so-discriminating organization that will publish virtually anything as long as you agree to pay their fee. Anyway, here it is, as published in 2003's Nature's Gentle Kiss (note the repetition):
Python
In the still and silent room
Sleeps the giant snake
Coiled against itself
And the glass
Snoozing bulk
Salted in light fragments
Sleeping off its savor
As it slumbers
It dreams of slick escape
Sly
Hugging the heat source
Scales piled
Soon to wake
Just to sleep, satisfied
Jake and I hit it off over the course of several months. I wanted to get him into something larger, but I was concerned about the lack of room in my bedroom. At the time, my collection of snakes was so expansive that I replaced my bed with a futon which was folded into the couch setting. I wasn't sure what to do. In the meantime, the snake was growing quickly. I don't recall how much it weighed but it was beefy. It had a very strong feeding response which *usually* kept me on my toes. It would take one fateful evening to reverse the course of our little friendship.
I returned home from work one night, exhausted and not wanting anything to do with my menagerie (I did work with reptiles all day - occasionally this would happen). Upon entering my room, I was hit by the pungent aroma of big snake poop (anyone who has ever kept giant snakes in warm rooms knows what I'm talking about). There was in fact a large pile of feces and urates in the python's large crock water bowl. Under the room's dim lighting, I unlatched the cage's lock and reached down with my left hand to remove the bowl. This wasn't something I'd ever do under normal circumstances. The routine typically involved using a hook as if to say, "No - not food." But I wasn't thinking straight that night. The growing boy of a snake, thinking it was dinner time, took the opportunity to lunge for my hand, which it did with pinpoint accuracy. Before I could even process what was happening, the snake had wrapped around my arm and began constricting up to about mid-bicep.
I lifted the snake up and out of the cage and tried to unwind its body from my arm. I was unsuccessful at first, but I began to grow nervous and a little scared. So I used more force and eventually the snake's body flopped onto the floor like a tight corkscrew. By this point, my blood was all over the place. All over the snake's mouth and head, all over the floor, and all over my clothes. The bite had gone from uncomfortable to painful. The snake was committed and it took my grabbing of its neck and pulling it off to get it to release its toothy grip. A bit disoriented, Jake sort of laid there half under my computer desk, probably about as confused as I was. Panicking at the sight of all the carnage, I dashed into the bathroom and began washing the blood off of my hand and arm. The snake had gotten my four fingers (all but the pinky), the back of my hand, and the palm, and left a few teeth for me to remove. After cleaning up, I returned to my room, where Jake had now gotten comfortable completely under the desk. I returned him to the cage and anxiously cleaned the wooden floor like a killer who had just murdered someone. When I was done, I sat on my futon nursing my wounds with paper towels, and watched the snake for about ten minutes. This was a turning point, one where for the first time I considered the idea that I was not prepared for such a wild animal. Regretfully, within a week, I gave the snake to a friend who was more experienced with snakes of Jake's magnitude.
But the story doesn't end there. You may want to hear this.
Following the bite, I experienced pain in my afflicted hand. It was largely localized below the first knuckle on my index finger - in the palm-side meat. At first it was mild, but soon it would worsen and at times become unbearable. I'd wake up in the middle of the night with throbbing pain. The finger would swell and turn red, and I'd sweat and occasionally nearly pass out. This went on for weeks, and then months. Yeah, I should have seen a doctor, but nineteen year old guys are sometimes known for being irresponsible and dumb. Plus, what was I going to tell a doctor, that I was in pain because a large python bit me in my bedroom?
One night, I was out shooting pool at Lee Street Billiards (in Des Plaines) with some friends, when all of a sudden the pain rose to an all time high. I motioned to my good friend Tom (who was aware of the bite and my pain) that I needed to sit down. I back stepped until I made contact with the wall, and slid down onto the floor, between two small tables with ashtrays. The room started spinning a little, and the rock music began morphing into some liquified mush of sounds and I felt a sort of nauseous high. Concerned but clearly helpless, Tom came to my side for support. I slowly glanced at my inflamed left hand, and in sheer desperation, I grabbed my finger with my other hand and just squeezed the hell out of it. And with Tom as my witness, a large python tooth popped right up from the swollen knuckle. His jaw dropped like a cartoon character. Maybe mine did too. And wouldn't you know it, in an instant the pain was gone. Like, completely gone as if nothing had ever happened. After the sweat dried up a little, I got up and played what very well could have been the best round of pool I ever played. As for the tooth, I saved it, but in the melee that is life it went MIA. It doesn't matter though, because I still have the scars on my hand to remind me of that late night in my old bedroom twenty two years ago.
So yes, since then I have been bitten by snakes a lot. But so far none have come close to Jake's. I imagine Jake has since passed, but his legacy hasn't. I am no less fascinated by snakes, no less fearless, but maybe a little more respectful than I was at nineteen.
Oh, and I never told my mom about what happened. So if you ever read this, mom, don't worry, I'm fine.
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