It was fascinating to be in a place like that for the first time. They had all kinds of exotic reptiles - including the poisonous variety - plus tarantulas, scorpions and the like. Glen took a personal interest in us and allowed me to touch and handle several boas until I selected one of good size, just over four-and-a-half feet long, naming him Pretzel due to his darker coloration and (of course) bendy nature. Glen told us that Pretzel had been recently caught in the wild and was not totally tame, but with enough handling would become more accustomed to people. I agreed that I could handle the responsibility and we trotted off with Pretzel in a bag, placing him in a newly-built cage once we got home.
Pretzel and I became the talk of the block, and soon people from all over were coming to visit and have a look-see. I boldly showed off my new pet, walking around with him wrapped around my neck and allowing others to do the same. I even once walked the two blocks down 16th Street to the corner 7-11 to make a candy purchase with Pretzel as my companion.
But Glen Duplechain was right. Pretzel had recently been wild-caught, and was not used to being handled. He was skittish at times, and seemed to want nothing more than to be put down and left alone. The only thing he appeared to like was when we let him loose in the mimosa tree in the back yard so he could climb around at will. Had to watch him close, though...once he had to be rescued from the gutter, as the tree overhung the roof ledge. Through it all I had been told and believed that he would get used to handling eventually, so endeavored to pick him up every day even when my friends weren't around.
After a few weeks we noticed something else about Pretzel. He wasn't eating. He ate a hamster right off the bat, but would not eat after that no matter what was offered. When the weeks turned to more than a month we decided to take Pretzel back to the store in Groves to see if his condition could be diagnosed. I imagined that he was getting a bit "thin" (if that can happen to a snake), and was getting worried.
Glen was happy to see us and concerned that we were having a problem. After observing a bit, he took Pretzel and, to my astonishment, pried his mouth open to have a look at his teeth and gums. Sure enough, there it was. Mouth rot, a common disease of captive boas. There was a cheesy substance that had accumulated between his "lips" and gum, which Glen swabbed out with a Q-tip to show us the culprit of Pretzel's loss of appetite. Fortunately a treatable condition.
Since I was the pet owner and would be responsible for curing Pretzel, he showed me exactly how to do the swabbing myself (!), and in addition gave us a yellow powder, an antibiotic, to mix in with his water every day. We put Pretzel back into his pillow case and headed home, instructions and prescription in hand. I was not looking forward to this unforeseen duty as Pretzel's owner and caretaker.
But I did it anyway, every single day. The water got changed and antibiotic mixed in (the easy part). Then I would pick Pretzel up and hold him in the prescribed manner so that his gums could be swabbed. This was not a pleasant task for anyone to see, so I mostly did it by myself. Encouragingly, after a few weeks the cheesy substance began to diminish and we were on our way to recovery.
Pretzel evidently got impatient with the whole process, however, because one morning I opened up the cage and reached in as usual to do the mouth-swabbing, but this time he was having none of it. As I reached from above he was ready, and struck with the lightning-fast speed for which snakes are famous. Before I knew it he'd covered the entire right side of my hand, letting out a hissing sound as the jaws clamped shut. It was just a warning, though, because just as quickly he let go and assumed a striking pose in case I didn't get it the first time.
Well, I got it! In shock, I glanced at my hand and saw numerous trickles of blood where he'd broken skin. There was no pain at all - the equivalent of just a few needle pricks - but the thought that my beloved pet, whom I'd been so diligent to cure of this illness, actually struck and bit me was too much to bear. I let out an ungodly howl and ran for my bedroom, throwing myself on the bed, letting loose with more howls and loud, mourning sobs of disappointment and betrayal.
It so happened that no one else was home with the exception of our maid, Addie Mae Brown, who came to clean every Thursday. She rushed into the bedroom wondering what the fuss was all about. When I finally got it out that Pretzel had bitten, she got this alarmed look on her face and rushed over to the play room where the cage was and, sure enough, in my shock and haste I'd forgotten all about closing the cage and Pretzel was halfway out deciding where to spend his first moments of unexpected freedom. Again, this was a large-ish reptile, almost five feet in length. Seeing the potential of a full-blown escape, Addie Mae rushed back to the bedroom to inform me of the circumstances. I had no choice but to go back in there, still bleeding and sobbing, to secure Pretzel back into his abode.
Naturally, from that moment on I was hesitant to do the mouth-swabbing, and was surprised to find that Pretzel acquiesced, but it wasn't the same. There was always the nervousness that he would bite again, which I knew animals - even those with a reptilian brain - could sense, and the balloon of my enthusiasm over owning such a pet was deflated. After a few months, even though Pretzel almost completely healed of his condition and was eating again, the parents observed my indifference and allowed me to make the decision to get rid of him and move on to other projects.
Below is yours truly, holding Pretzel when I was about 10, in front of our House at 1512 Chapman in Orange. Do I look a little bit nervous?
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