This article was printed in the Ilawarra Mercury on 10th May 2007. Due to it being not available on line I have reproduced it here exactly as it was printed. Author's name is Carrie Cox and even includes her email address at the end of the article which I encourage everyone to use.
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Snakes alive... I really didn't know
MY fear of snakes borders on pathelogical. Indeed, they're up there with tuckshop ladies on my list of Things To Avoid At All Costs.
While it's probably unfair to tar all breeds with the same brush, I thinks it's only safe to assume that every snake is a potential killer, or at least related to one.
Where I grew up, the ground was thick with snakes and every few months the "Tiapan Man" would visit our school and scare us silly with his glass-cages reptiles.
"Never pick up a snake" he would say as he picked up a snake. "Never do this", as he poked about in the creature's mouth and milked its fangs. "And if you see a snake, always stand perfectly still until it moves away." Riiiight.
Somehow, in 34years of ill-advised behaviour, I had managed to avoid a close encounter with a snake. As a result, I was a tightly wound ball of reptile anxiety, constantly on the lookout for things that move when they shouldn't, hoses without nozzles and anything bushier than a bonsai. When my daughter wanted to pat a snake at Australia Zoo I quietly informed her that we don't do such things in our family because we are not COMPLETELY INSANE.
So yep, I was due.
It happened last weekend. We hired a skip(I love saying that,because up until 10 days ago I didn't even know what what a skip was), reason being that the house we recently moved into has a backyard full of chip bark and apparantly that stuff simply "has to go". I'm assuming you know why because I certainly don't.
So there I am,shovelling this chip bark into a wheelbarrow when out pops Mr Brown Snake. A snake. In the open. Alive.
Instinctively, I brought the shovel down just as the snake was rounding my front toe. Alas, I missed it by a good 20cm and so commenced leaping about like a gardener on smack and whacking the shovel into the soil until finally, almost operatically, the snake ceased moving.
At this point Wally, the husband I once rescued from the perennially nervous state of Victoria, looked up from his position about 50m away and asked whether I might be having a problem.
"I just killed a snake," I said.
"A snake?!" he shrieked,darting off in the opposite direction. "Well kill it!"
"I did!" I quipped, just as an identical brown snake slithered out adjacent to where the first had appeared.
Thwack! Slam! Chop! Chop! Chop! I made light work of that venomous sucker and waited,crazy woman-like, for the third.
"Watch out for the Mummy Snake," Wally warned as he headed upstairs to check on the kids and presumably change his pants.
"I'll be back down soon!"
I felt emboldened.
Invincible. And, yes, a little primitive. But my elation at having not only confronted my greatest fear but effectively sliced and diced it was quickly hosed down by my neighbour and friend Rachel.
"You've not only killed two living creatures but you've actually broken the law. Twice," she said, clearly unimpressed.
(Look I had no idea killing snakes was illegal. I didn't even know what a skip was.)
"But they could have bitten my children," I protested.
"I was protecting my family."
Rachel was unmoved:"It doesn't matter. If we all took the laws of nature into our own hands, what kind of world would we be left with?"
Bloody greenies. Make room on that list, tuckshop ladies.
carrieon@bigpond.com "
