I'd like to name her Choky because of how pythons kill their prey, but since she's replacing Claire's late garter snake, she gets the final say in the naming thing. I just hope she won't come up with something overly girly.
I have never really cared for snakes much. They don't put me off or even scare me in any way. I just don't find them very interesting. For starters, they're deaf, so they don't exactly care whether or not you give them a name, let alone respond in any way when you call it. And I can't help but feel that evolution has somehow ignored them. No arms, no legs, all they do is crawl around all day. If anything. For as much as I'd hate to offend any potential snakes or snake lovers, who might be following my blog, I have always considered them boring and primitive.
That said, I find our new pet surprisingly fascinating. Not only is she incredibly fun to look at, but having this creature, which is basically just a long, powerful muscle covered in slick scales crawling up and down my arm is unlike anything I'd experience with a cat or a dog. She just glides around in one soft, uninterrupted motion. Very much unlike anything you'd imagine if you've never seen a real snake before. She's also an incredibly talented climber. The second we put her in the vivarium she was already on her way to the very top, then safely slid down again whilst wrapping her tail around a plant. Not the pathetic, under-developed excuse for primitive life I had imagined.
I took her out during work today, she sat on me and shaped into a pretzel of sorts and eyed me curiously, followed by an occasional flick of the tongue. I don't think she's ever gonna fetch a stick and the quiet and peaceful staring contest aside, I doubt there will be an awful lot of interaction. Ever. Which is a welcome change of pace, considering I'm constantly surrounded by hyperactive cats. What really fascinates me here is how this exotic animal, a wild reptile which would creep out a fair amount of people, just sits there, looks at me and puts up with it. No hiding, no trying to get away, no hissing or biting. To be fair, royal pythons aren't exactly known to be aggressive and they're as noob-friendly as it gets with reptiles, but that doesn't make the whole situation any less alien or surreal. The snake sits, stares, flicks the tongue, that's it. Perfectly quiet and calm.
One thing that has always bothered me about that whole reptile business is how emotionally detached many reptile owners, as well as treatment guides and books are. When you look up websites about the proper handling and care of reptiles, many of them look and feel like a manual for a vacuum cleaner. You get the cold, hard facts, zero enthusiasm and there's usually something among the lines of: "Reptiles don't care about you. They aren't dogs. They tolerate you at best. You probably shouldn't get one."
Okay, this is a slight exaggeration, but it's pretty close to the actual message. It seems perfectly normal for many people to consider them a status symbol of sorts, a piece of furniture you get to show off and brag about (and feed every once in a while). I see people returning reptiles at Claire's shop all the time, with all kinds of excuses. Too dangerous with the new baby, landlord doesn't like reptiles, they no longer have the time or the money or they simply want to trade in their old reptile for something bigger and cooler. I have yet to see one of them, who is actually, genuinely sad about having to part ways with their scaly friend.
Now, before you freak out at me, because you do in fact care about your animals, I'm not calling you a liar. I'm just saying that, from what I have seen, you're a pretty rare breed. I don't think it's fair to keep any kind of animal just for its looks or awesomeness, only to replace it when the next popular thing comes up or the excitement has simply worn off. And it's those 'vacuum cleaner manual'-style guides, which promote that kind of treatment in the first place. I've lost count of how many times I had to read stuff among the lines of: "Your reptile appreciates you as a food source and may or may not tolerate being handled. It will never like being handled, nor will it feel or show affection in any way."
Lots of people seem to consider this bit of information to be their invitation to treat their reptiles like hungry furniture and to replace or remove them the moment they lose interest. After all, the reptile doesn't care, so there's no need to feel guilty, right? Sigh!
I'm not gonna try to prove how reptiles may or may not feel affection towards their owners. How the hell would I even do that? Let's face it: Our python will never fetch my slippers, our bearded dragon doesn't bark and wag her tail when I come home and I have yet to hear of purring reptiles. That said, in the unlikely event that reptiles do feel affection in any way, they have very few possibilities to show them. Put two beardies in the same tank and they'll show their appreciation by not fucking killing each other! They might eventually sit around on one another, which is probably for the sake of keeping warm rather than anything lovey-dovey. That's it. Reptiles don't cuddle, they don't kiss or rub their noses against each other (parasites actually may make them do so, but that doesn't really count).
That said, our bearded dragon will quite happily leap out of her tank and climb up onto my shoulder. And she's perfectly happy falling asleep right on top of me when I watch tv. She'd do no such thing with Claire. Maybe that's all just a coincidence, maybe there's something about my voice or the way I smell that she likes or maybe there's something she dislikes about Claire, but she does seem to recognize us and she does seem to be able to tell us apart. Simply put, that lizard seems to like me in some way. Once again, this could be based on a million things and is by no means solid proof of any actual affection, but I don't want to completely rule out the possibility. Of course our beardie will never snuggle up against me for anything other than warmth, it will never do any actuall rubbing, licking* or anything of the sort, but that's simply because lizard generally don't do that. Ever. Not to each other and sure as hell not to their owners. Does that mean they don't feel anything, simply because the obvious telltale signs aren't part of their language?
*not like cats or dogs do, anyway
If nothing else, reptiles may develop unique traits and quirks and something you might call a personality. In her more active days, our garter snake would dart around her tank like crazy whenever I started cooking dinner and she'd quite happily wrap her teeth around a small chunk of roast beef. The snake clearly knew I was preparing food, insisted in having her share and if nothing else, it was a sign of intelligence.
Reptiles aren't as common or 'well-explored' a pet as cats and dogs are. They're called 'exotics' for a reason. There is still much we don't know about them. I'm not sure it's fair to simply assume they can't feel affection in any way, just because they lack the ability to show any obvious signs for it. Following various reptile forums and fan sites, this seems to be an ongoing discussion and I don't want to be on either side of the argument. I'm just saying one shouldn't flat-out rule out the possibility that they do in fact feel something, to whatever extent. If nothing else, our new python might at some point appreciate me in a way she would appreciate her favourite climbing-stick in the vivarium. Funny thought. Maybe she's just the eating, crapping, shedding flesh automaton lots of people perceive her to be.
My point is: Until some smart people come up with a method of proving once and for all that reptiles feel absolutely nothing, no attachment or affection whatsoever, maybe you shouldn't buy, sell, trade and return them as though they were inanimate objects, who simply look cool and don't give a crap about changing owners like some of you change your underwear.
-Cat
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