My scary dreams are about rattlesnakes. There are rattlesnakes in my yard, on my porch, and in my house. I find rattlesnakes in a field, under a rock, and under my bed.
I hate rattlesnakes.
Actually I hate to be surprised by rattlesnakes. If I'm not surprised, no problem.
If you grow up in Southern California and spend any time in the hills you'll come across a rattlesnake. I was camping with my dad and a couple of friends. We were sitting on rocks around a fire cooking breakfast when I stood up. Out slithered a baby rattler about 14 inches long. He coiled up on the warm rock and looked us over. I wanted to take a shovel to him but my dad stopped me. We shooed him away and then broke camp. I couldn't get home fast enough.
I still shiver when I think about it.
Those Southern Pentecostal snake handlers are crazy in more than one way.
It's not just rattlesnakes. I read about a family in India who had work done under their house. They found hundreds of cobras living in the crawl space. I know cobras are shy, relatively placid poisonous creatures but I don't want to live with them.
I watched a video of a TV animal botherer who was trying to get a good photo of a cobra in Africa. He teases the snake, grabbing its tail and poking it. The snake bites him. They rush him off to the hospital and dose him with anti venom. Then he goes back, finds the same cobra, and starts over.
I'm not the smartest guy in the world but I know not to tease a cobra.