By Bruce Davidson
An act of heroism is by definition something that occurs during events that could not have been anticipated in advance. However, if one has a devious mind, the possibility of the attainment of a teensy bit of heroism’s luster in the ordinary course of one’s affairs can be quite compelling.
So when local cottager Phyllis Dey, a former West Carling Director, phoned me to say that she would appreciate some help in dealing with a rattlesnake caught in a minnow trap, a surge of adrenalin coursed through the veins of yours truly, who thereupon leaped into action. (Actually leaped is a bit of a stretch for a guy with a recent double hip replacement, but whatever). Not having a HazMat suit readily on hand, I decided that appropriate venomous snake attire would consist of long pants, long shirt, wellington boots, long sleeved work gloves and tin snips. As it was one of the dog days of July, my overriding concern was that someone would see me heading across the Bay dressed like a refugee from Greenland and conclude that I was either up to some serious mischief or more likely, that I had indeed finally stepped over that fine line that I had been dancing around for several years.
Having girded my loins for battle with a reptilian leviathan in some dark underwater cavern, I was immensely relieved on arrival to see that Ralph (all rattlers bear that moniker) was instead captive in a fairly ordinary minnow trap in the woods. Ever the diplomat, I bit my tongue and skillfully avoided asking Phyllis just exactly what kind of terrestrial minnows inhabited the woods of her island.
Losing no time, I cautiously approached Ralph in my Dan Ackroyd “Snakebuster” costume with a view to making friends and assuring him of my kindly intent. To his credit, Ralph immediately let me know that homosapiens were not to be trusted under any circumstances and sounded a buzz so intense that I squashed one of Phyllis’s prize blueberry bushes with my derriere whilst startling the amazed onlookers with a howl of pure terror.
Pretending that this display of abject cowardice was nothing other than a deliberate act staged to scare them, I gathered up such few wits as I still possessed and liberated Ralph from his prison with the tin snips at arm’s length from my quivering body. To everybody’s great surprise, Ralph was so enamored of his new freedom that he merely lay there unmoving in the moss and dared anyone to approach…certainly the farthest thing from my mind.
The moral of the story is that we should all take care not to leave hazardous entrapments such as deep pails lying around the cottage. Unlikely as it may seem, lots of critters, some endangered, can find their way in and suffer death by starvation. And by the way, killing a rattler in Ontario bears a maximum $250,000 fine and/or a year of imprisonment.
Download this story and the entire WCA Fall Newsletter October_3_2018 in PDF format (1.5MB).