- :- 5 snakes, 2 of which are slightly more than just a little poisonous
:- A varied assortment of rodents, acting as fodder for 3 of the snakes
:- 2 tanks of crickets/grasshoppers feeding the other 2 snakes and the lizards
:- 8 lizards or lizard type animals which would happily gnaw a limb off should you get sloppy and take your eye off of them...
:- 3 rabbits, probably destined to feed the bear we're expecting to be savaged by on our next visit.
:- She recently re-housed a large collection of spiders, so that's a plus...
:- 3 dogs, which makes for a nice dog-rabbit ratio...
Now, it may strike the brightest among you that living conditions for these animals must be, to say the least, exciting. Occupants of the house have a strict regimen of daily tasks designed to ensure that the various warring clans never share the same area at the same time, lest drama happen. This approach is surprisingly efficient, but leaves little time for any personal human space, so guests are admonished to fend for themselves.
That is not the issue. The issue is far cuter, and infinitely more violent.
Meet Bates:
So named because of the sweetest little habit of his which involves randomly savaging humans... because... well... that's his version of therapy...
Bates entered scene left on one of our rare visits to the farmhouse of horrors by the simple expedient of attacking the rottweiler, (who has apparently had a sex change as a result, because every visit thereafter this manly dog has been witnessed cringing in the presence of butterflies). Rushing to the scene of the crime we were treated to a display of animal ferocity and heroics that would make wolverine hand in the yellow spandex. This ball of killing fury was latching on to various bits of the hapless dog and then shaking so violently that, in accordance with the laws of physics, it's own body was flapping like a second, mutant, tail intent on destroying its owner.
The poodle was bravely cowering under the stairs whilst intermittently ululating in terror and howling like the spirit of some long lost mariner... so... creepy and portentous - an excellent combination to welcome a new actor to the stage.
After much drama, broken into various acts - ("Water! Water's the thing" - "Well.. that didn't work... quick grab the tail!") - and much personal sacrifice in the skin, muscle and blood departments, we succeeded in separating the two combatants, bundling the concentrated furball of violence in a floral towel and then stowing him in a handy cage... which he proceeded to attack in a manner that left us concerned that the cage's engineering may not be sufficient for the task...
Now, anyone who has dealt with one of these angels of death could tell you that they fall somewhere in the high-upper percentile of intelligent rabid animal, whilst also being gifted with a single minded attention to destructive detail that would make Buddha blink. Within his first week in captivity he burrowed through 2 doors to take another shot at the, now thoroughly cowed, rottie. Naturally, in my sister's unstable mental realm, this is an unforgivable sin of the highest order.
And so, by various means, his adoption was decided between my sister and spouse whilst my attention was elsewhere, (probably keeping dibs on the suspicious green snake with the horrible red eyelids...). The rest was... well... not exactly history, but certainly a very entertaining 7 months of discovering half-dead, angry as all get up snakes, lizards, birds, etc waiting in various inconvenient places around the house. In the event we weren't getting the underlying message he also destroyed a couch.When caught in the act he eye-balled me, then calmly proceeded to finish the job.
I was unmanned that day.
Now, the issue is clearly this: How does one go about disciplining Satans' bootblack?
Go for the eyes, Boo! Go for the eyes!
