Don’t Read If You’re Ophidiophobic

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It is said, I am told, that these ophidians, these serpents, these insidiously long, round menacing looking snakes can be found everywhere.
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Some people love snakes; others revile them.   Some find their reptilian skin; their ways, their look, their movement absolutely enthralling.   I’m not one of the them, but whatever floats your boat.
In this pic below (abnd in the first one at the top of this post) I would assume that the snakes’ rather engorged middle sections are that way probably because they’re full of yet-to-be-digested dinner….as in a small goat.

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Well Mr. Snake, please say “Ah”….or not.
Or maybe this is how really large snakes get remnants of a goat meal out from betwixt their fangs.  Whenever I’ve supped on goats, electrified fence wire is always a suitable replacement for a toothpick.
 
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With the advent of global travel and mass transport, huge snakes that could only be found in the darkest, jungle recesses of the Amazan, or Africa, can now be found in a private home in Helena or Hoboken.

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True, I’m not a fan of snakes,  but I don’t hate them either.  I don’t scream at the mere  sight of one, nor do they give me the “willies”.   I understand their relevance and the role they play on this mortal coil of ours and while I’m willing to co-exist with them on the same planet, I don’t want to be roomates with them.
To be honest, I don’t want to walk into my bathroom with a very full bladder still dazed after a night of drinking and see a very huge adder.
Especially occupying my seat.

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And I don’t care if this snake was “placed” on or in the toilet for maximum photographic effect.    You can see an orange bucket underneath it.   Whether a staged scenario or not, this would NOT be a pleasing sight for me first thing in the morning….
Or at noon…
And especially not at night.
The truth is, while I’m not a herpetologist or an odhidiophile, I respect snakes.  I’ve seen what they can do.  When I was six years old, a little girl (who just learned to walk)  was toddling around her house at night, her mother not far behind, but because it was dark, Little Martha stepped on a rattlesnake–one of those big Texas numbers–and it bit her on the leg repeatedly.    This was small town South Texas in 1965, people.
She died.
I’ve also seen what they can do to mice.
So yes, I respect snakes.  And if I walked in on one in my toilet, I’d show him some of that respect and privacy, too.    I’d wait until he was finished and then I’d probably offer him some toilet paper if he needed it.
Providing, of course, he was ”a viper”.