SNAKE MOBILES

Most folks with good sense stay as far away from snakes as possible. And others carry them around in their cars.

JD Spohn once ran over a rattler, and was so impressed with its size he threw it in the back of his station wagon to show to his family. JD lived in Pine Ridge and in rainy season the rattlers would migrate from the marsh lands--where Pelican Bay is now--to the high ground in Pine Ridge. It was common to run over these brutes, some as thick as a coal miner's arm. And when you ran over one it was like running over a tree limb. JD had one of these.

Spying one of his neighbors he pulled in the driveway and yelled, "Look what I got in back." The neighbor came over, looked in the back and said, "What? An empty K-Mart sack?"

"No, the snake! The rattler." JD said.

"Snake!" the neighbor said, taking a quick step back. "No snake back here."

The neighbor later said he'd never seen JD move so fast. Out of the car, pulling his .45, pointing it in every direction, realizing the rattler he thought was dead had only been stunned.

Finally, JD gingerly opened all the doors, stood back and waited until the rattler came slithering out. Whereupon he made sure it came to an untimely demise.

Another time, a man was taken to the station on suspicion of larceny and was being interviewed while his truck was being searched. "Tell who ever's searchin' that truck not to open that box in the back. There's a rattlesnake in it." Huh? "A rattlesnake."

When cops went to confirm, sure enough, in a chest-high wooden box, was a rattlesnake. Never found out why he was carrying it around. A pet, a close friend, a relative, who knows. But there it was.

Then there's the cop that stopped a fella on the East Trail for a speeding violation. Writing the ticket he could hear movement behind the driver in the back seat. Looking inside, he saw a large burlap bag with something squirming inside it. "What's that?" he asked the driver.

"Oh, it's about twenty, twenty-five moccasins I picked up this evening out in the Glades," the driver said.

"Moccasins? You mean Cottonmouths? Snakes?"

"Yep. I gather 'em up and sell to Ross Allen at the Serpentarium. He milks 'em or something to make anti-venom."

"You ever get bit?"

"Ever once in a while, but the pay's real good."

Not good enough for this old hoss.

Thanks Dave D.