There's A Snake In The Tub

Every serious reptile keeper has, at some point, had something akin to a spiritual awakening – usually at that moment in which they simultaneously realize how idiotic the thing they just did was, and that they seem to have survived it unscathed. (These are the moments I am referring to, most usually, when I say something like, “I’ve learned a lot…”)

One of my favorite personal experiences involved a 7’ boa, duct tape, a tub full of lukewarm water, and – of course – myself. About the time I was bent awkwardly over the tub, coils of muscle flopped across my arm and…snaking… up my leg, I realized that the piece of duct tape I was attempting to remove from this not-particularly-pleased animal was the one wrapped – problematically – around its mouth. Was there anyone home to help me should something go awry? Of course not. Could I have become one of those news stories that make me roll my eyes at the blatant moronic behavior of some snake owners? It’s possible.

Luckily for me, and for the boa (who I affectionately refer to as Grip) – I did not. At nearly 15 years old, Grip was an incredibly mellow animal…never snippy, good with kids, and just a fantastic specimen all around. As far as Red Tail Boas go, he was not a particularly ‘big’ snake; but, just for fun, let’s talk, for a moment, about the word “big”.

More specifically, how this word relates to things like… oh… snakes.

This is a very relative term; for some, a ‘big’ snake is anything larger than a worm that surprises them in the garden. Others might judge more by length, as in, “If I can’t completely crush it when I scream in fear and stomp on it, it’s big.” (I do NOT condone squishing snakes, by the way - if you ‘stomp’ on a snake in my presence, it better be trying to eat you.)

If you’re me, a ‘big’ snake is more governed by thickness or weight, rather than length. If it’s under six feet, I’ll probably be referring to it as small to medium sized (depending how much under six feet it is) on the grand scale of snakes, and then discuss its relative size in comparison to others of the same species.

Another general measurement I like to use is, “If I were the only one around, could this thing kill me by sheer strength alone?” (Not that it would, but COULD it, if it wanted to?)

Grip, for example, is one that I would refer to as a ‘big’ snake – somewhere around 7’ long, and 17-20 lbs. By species, Grip was ‘small’ to ‘average’ – Red Tail Boas can get somewhere between 7-10 feet, and significantly heavier than this one was. In general, I’d consider a 7’ snake to be large, but definitely not huge; it comes nowhere near the length or width of the more commonly envisioned Reticulated Python, Burmese Python, or Anaconda (either the Green or Yellow variety).

Rule of thumb when working with snakes (particularly constrictors – often referring to boas and pythons, but also including any snake whose method of killing prey is through coiling around it and compressing) is that you should have one person for every 4’ of snake – just in case. I have definitely had my lapses in obeying these sorts of practices, and – thus far – I’ve been incredibly lucky. Acknowledging snakes as wild animals is an absolute must; while you may work with them for 50 years and never have an issue, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.