There's something to be said for Respecting Nature. I do. Always have. Don't turn your back on the ocean. Wear bear-bells in bear country. Wasps and hornets prefer not to be swatted (and missed), as it only pisses them off. Wool warms, cotton kills.
We humans, for the most part, are predictable animals. We eat in certain places, tend to nap in soft zones, we lash out at others who annoy us, including the errant ear-hovering mosquito who circles the earlobe at 3am.
Animals, however, are not as predictable with their behavior. For example, the deer that feed along the shrub-and-grass lot behind my house simply stand and stare at Gracie and Basco as they bark madly at them. These same hooved animals react similarly when they're just outside my front door as the dogs and I head out for nighttime pees. Stand, blink, immobile. They wait for these barking irritants, these long-lineage offspring of ancestral predators to quiet themselves with a silly assumption that Basco, who's blind, and Gracie, who's not would not chase after and nibble on their heels given the unleashed opportunity.
Birds do in fact, fly off when a stranger approaches. However, their unpredictability lies in that strange moment with the overly optimistic and confident middle-of-the-road bird, who's made the choice that his toothpick legs are much faster at running across the road in order to avoid an on-coming vehicle than to quickly gain flight in a simple up-down flap of its eight-inch airbound wings. Go figure.
Today, on the southside trail of Round Top Mtn in the Sibley Volc. Preserve in the E.Bay Reg. Parks, not far from the sign that states "Do Not Enter, Rehabitation Area", beneath the leafy shade of the Eucalyptus grove, an angry, coiled, fang-bearing rattlesnake decided to become Sergeant-at-Arms (as decided by whom, its forest brethren?) of the trail. Anyhoo, it laid there in partial sun and shade, not under or on top of a warm rock or near a bunny warren where most textbooks state we can find them. From my heart-thumping, 10 yard distance, I spied his coiled his body -- approx two-inch diameter -- while he hissed his poisonous tongue and rattled his 4" shaker posted just centimeters from his slit-eye head. Gracie cocked her head to the side and stood motionless. Fortunately, she did not step forward to within 5' from this reptile, but stood in awe, cranking her head towards the other shoulder.
Frightened does no justice as an emotional description here. Jarred. Jolted. Cautiously freaked.
It was all I could do to summon her back with a "Gracie! Come! Here! Gracie! Come!! Basco! Stay!" Mind you, Basco, the good little guy was already standing at my shins and simply sat down, not knowing why I was yelling at him. Good boy.
She returned to me, with her head craned backwards at the sputtering rattler, its jaw wide open, fangs dripping with venom that glistened in the sun's rays and ready to plunge into soft, pliable skin. I re-leashed both of them -- Basco's so good, I don't really know why I bothered, since he'd simply follow me wherever I walked. But, in the event Gracie thought of Mr. Venomous Ready Bite as a crinkly rattly toy and needed some outdoor play time, I hedged my bet on cautiousness. She has a thing for disemboweling all her toys, often ripping their heads off first then chewing apart the area that crinkles, squeaks, or, of course, rattles. I could only imagine that this "live" toy appeared the same to ther, minus the chenille fabric, fluffy stuffing, and kidney bean-plastic containered rattle.
I felt bad for the puppies since we'd just walked up hill in the sun for about 30 minutes, and I chose this particular path and route as a means to cool them down. That's what we usually do. But there was no choice but to backtrack up the mountain trail, into the searing sun, and back along the ridge. At least I brought two water bottles for the little guys.
In those brief rattling moments on the trail my mind raced: What should I do, thrown rocks at Mr. VRB in hopes that he'd uncoil and slither down the hill towards the feral cats and hopping rabbits? Make myself big as suggested for mountain lions and coyotes? I don't think so. This sputtering reptile was not going to budge. For all I know, today was eat-anything day. Even the birds weren't flying around that part of the trail, opting to leave the seeds, worms, and insects for another time.
Mother Nature's Animals are not as predictable as we'd sometimes like them to be. Sure, raccoons and bears will take the easy route and head straight for the untethered trash cans and tents filled with yummy food rather than hunt and forage. Who wouldn't? I mean, even we humans do that, don't we? That's why we open the refrigerator and stare at whatever's inside imagining a meal, a la George Jetson-style to materialize rather than put something together. Hence, the success of that well-known business, the restaurant.
The rattlesnake is no different. If a meal will cross its path, well, then so be it, it's like a drive-thru, hot-n-ready treat for him. If I tossed rocks County Fair style at his head in hopes of ensuring passage on this trail, I'm sure PETA would be all over me, I'd piss him off and he'd probably S-curve and slither-sprint his way towards my calf in retaliation. But, I have to remember, that this path, these woods, these trails, rocks, ravines, and arroyos are actually his turf, not mine. I'd like to think otherwise, but, you know, Nature is where these types live and exist. If he opted to enter my house, well, we know that's another matter. In his house, though? Just like the elk, moose, and bears I encountered when I hiked around Montana: let them be.
When I was little, my mom invited an old college friend of hers to our house. She brought her two children, a boy & girl, both of my elder sister, Elizabeth's and brother Tommy's ages. The girl dumped perfume -- part of a perfume-making kit -- all over Lizzy's bed. She broke my Baby Magic doll and somehow tossed the wand into the fire. The boy stepped on Tommy's Hot Wheels Sizzler car and snapped the track into pieces. They did not finish their Dixie-Riddle Cups of Kool-Aid that mom made for them, a drink we never were allowed, but even moreso, if we were (Birthday parties), a drop was never lost or wasted. They did not apologize. They did not display shame for their rancid, destructive behavior.
These were not children we liked. They were not welcome in our home. They did not make an attempt to replace or wash or repair any of the destroyed items. We reminded our mother every time she mentioned her college pal's name that her children were animals. Unpredictable. Feral. They should have backed away from our house before even stepping across the threshold. Urchins.
This is not a grudge but merely a point: some people are lower in the animal kingdom organizational pyramid. They diverged at the Class level (Mammal), jutting off towards something of a lower-thinking level. Hardly made the resemblance to the Primates (Order), who actually have some rational thinking processes. These two were not unlike the Sloth, which is of a subclass of the mammal; they don't even make it to Primate order. Seems about right. Subclass. Yep.
Back to the snake. Obviously, I won't enter the 'house' of Mr. Venomous Ready Bite for quite a while now, at least until I'm certain that the ranger has removed all those Rattlesnake In Area signs. Maybe some curious coyote and Mr. VRB will exchange moonlit words and, hopefully, the coyote will win. Until then, I'll just have to respect Mother Nature's Sibley Volcanic Round Top Mtn trail and let Nature take its course. I discovered a video that showed a red tail hawk & rattler dueling. Spoiler Alert!:::: The Hawk wins. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CeskXKz765g)
There are lots of hawks in the area and this viper was in plain view to any hungry bird of prey that circled the area. I'm counting on one Red Tail or Cooper's hawk having a craving for some fresh rattlesnake meat. Perhaps it needs a new belt or boots for its taloned claws. Mr. VRB would make a nice meal for a hungry hawk, coyote, or (recently spotted!) fox in the area.
Rattlesnakes are scarier than bears, mountain lions, and coyotes, and don't care if you make yourself noisy, big, or 'dead'. While the mammals will avoid us given most opportunites (with the exception of the two undomesticated, brackish gremlins who came w/my mom's friend),those diamondbacks will still coil, rattle, lunge, and bite and attack, even if the trail they're (and we're) on is well-traveled and habited by many.
Exercise caution when you're out on those trails. Or, carry some antivenom, or, wield a big stick, or, perhaps best of all, have somebody else walk ahead of you (and your dogs) so he can be the discoverer and distractor of the pit viper. You'll thank me later.
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