Snake Yummie Time

Have you ever watched a snake eat dinner? If not, you're missing out on a fascinating process. I understand that some people are a bit too squeamish to stomach it, or love little furry creatures too much to bear witnessing their demise--especially this demise, a matter-of-fact necessity of nature that involves the prey's final paralyzing tremble as it faces its killer, a spectacularly fast strike, slow strangulation, and gradual disappearance into the expanded gullet of a satisfied reptile. I am neither squeamish nor a rodent-lover, but I'm also not heartless. (I'll get to that in a moment.)

For most of my adult life I've held rats and mice in tremendous contempt. Mice have been trashing the inside of my parents' backyard shed for years, chewing through just about anything made of plastic, leaving their evil little droppings and piss puddles everywhere. (This is why I used to fill up buckets with garter snakes in the woods, bring them home, and unload them in the shed.) For months in 2009, very large rats wreaked havoc on my friend Allyson's beautiful Highland Park house, destroying the insulation of expensive kitchen appliances and creating unsettling noises day and night throughout the house that would leave almost anyone doubting his or her sanity. (Incidentally, I had to dispatch one of these rats myself with the sharp blade of a shovel after Pearl and Buck, the loyal household dogs, mauled it in the kitchen. The damned thing was 13 inches long from snout to tip of tail.)

Given my not-so-wholesome feelings for these creatures, I used to rather enjoy watching my first corn snake, Courtney, catch them with lightning precision inside her shoebox feeding habitat and swallow them down. However, I don't exactly feel so cruelly satisfied anymore. My current happy family of corn snakes--siblings named Demitra (because it's a great name that I'd like to bestow upon a future daughter), Lucinda (after renegade alt-Country rocker Lucinda Williams), and Callahan (Dirty Harry's last name)--need to eat. It's a fact of life. They're my kids and they must be fed. Furthermore, they deserve to hunt and incapacitate warm, live prey as per their naturely instinct, rather than swallowing those sad little thawed-out things you can buy in baggies from Petco--pre-packaged fast food for the captive reptile nation. Thing is, rats are amazingly pleasant creatures. It's easy for us to hate those nasty, cat-sized, dirt-covered vermin patrolling the New York subway system's rail beds and sneaking through the innards of our homes, but domesticated rats--the ones that are clean and inquisitive, happy to be held and entertained--make wonderful companions. Pet mice may not seem quite so possessed of intelligence or higher reasoning skills, but they're also easily loved when we know that they're content in their escape-proof cages most of the time and fun to handle when we want. (Same with animals that humans eat. Their context--whether grazing in a pasture, sniffing our hands at the county fair's petting zoo, or simmering on the grill--dictates our emotional connection to them.) Watching these furry little guys die by snake isn't quite as satisfying as it seemed to me when I was 23. Now it's just something that has to happen. My snakes aren't vegetarians, folks. Neither is Luna, my almost 14 year-old leopard gecko who mostly dines on crickets but occasionally enjoys a twitching pinky mouse. (Not too often! The high fat content is not good for a gecko's health.)

When I feed the snakes, I put on classical music. It seems appropriate for such a ritualized dinner party, but also somewhat morbid in a way that conjures images of Hannibal Lecter, aristocratic culture man who feasts upon human flesh. I silently observe my babies doing their thing; I honor the lives of those cute little mice or rats as they unwittingly sacrifice themselves for the sake of the snakes' survival. (Sometimes there's a bit of dinnertime drama because the snakes are often moody or seemingly uninterested and really need to be coerced into eating; Lucinda's been the staunchest feeding-time rebel since I got these snakes, but now she's bigger than either of her siblings.) When it's all over, the snakes go back into their terrarium, usually guzzling water lazily to wash their meals down. Rodents reproduce like we relieve ourselves, so I often say to myself Well, there are a thousand more where these ones came from.

By the way, if you're interested in a pet corn snake, let me know. I'm not looking for a buyer; I intend to give one or two of them away to responsible persons whom I trust. I was given these snakes free of charge, trusted to raise them, and I refuse to profit from them. Just send me an e-mail!