Nanci
Alien Lover
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I stood shaking in the center of a wooden 9-by-12-foot pit, surrounded on all sides by about 250 western diamondback rattlesnakes.
“Just be still, and stay calm,” a man in a black cowboy hat reassured me.
Teddy Richey and his son T.J., from Thackerville, Oklahoma, are members of the Outlaw Handlers. They travel to small-town rattlesnake roundups in Oklahoma and Texas with their stunt show, at once educating and astounding festival-goers with feats of bravery that involve live, sometimes agitated (sometimes nearly dead), rattlesnakes. Their ringleader is Mike Darrow. He wears a black cowboy hat, too, but he’s shorter and trimmer than Teddy, his tan face accessorized by wide, wire-framed glasses and a neat gray mustache.
Mike’s the one who got me into this mess, and he’s the one who was sliding coiled rattlesnakes toward me and arranging them at my feet. He carefully rested their rattles against the toes of my too-thin leather boots.
I glanced down at the snakes coiled around my feet. Their rattles hummed against my shoes. Then something, ever so lightly, brushed against the back of my knee.
“I won’t let them strike,” Mike promised me, reading the fear on my face. Another handler, the only woman on the team, took photos with my phone.
I stood as still as I could, doing my best to breathe and act relaxed. At the same time I was scared that my breath would cause a shift in my hips or ankles, a welcoming gesture for a snake just waiting to sink its fangs.
Once the snakes settled around my feet—six of them circled me—T.J. wrapped what he promised was a non-poisonous snake around my shoulders. Either end rested in the crooks between my thumbs and forefingers, and I held it gently as it stared into my eyes, flicking its forked tongue.
I glanced down at the snakes coiled around my feet. Their rattles hummed against my shoes. Then something, ever so lightly, brushed against the back of my knee. I didn’t move—stopped breathing, even. My heart pounded.
“I’m done,” I said. “Get me out of here.”
- See more at: http://thislandpress.com/09/18/2013/snakes-on-a-plain/?read=complete#sthash.Rs6IdM34.dpuf
I stood shaking in the center of a wooden 9-by-12-foot pit, surrounded on all sides by about 250 western diamondback rattlesnakes.
“Just be still, and stay calm,” a man in a black cowboy hat reassured me.
Teddy Richey and his son T.J., from Thackerville, Oklahoma, are members of the Outlaw Handlers. They travel to small-town rattlesnake roundups in Oklahoma and Texas with their stunt show, at once educating and astounding festival-goers with feats of bravery that involve live, sometimes agitated (sometimes nearly dead), rattlesnakes. Their ringleader is Mike Darrow. He wears a black cowboy hat, too, but he’s shorter and trimmer than Teddy, his tan face accessorized by wide, wire-framed glasses and a neat gray mustache.
Mike’s the one who got me into this mess, and he’s the one who was sliding coiled rattlesnakes toward me and arranging them at my feet. He carefully rested their rattles against the toes of my too-thin leather boots.
I glanced down at the snakes coiled around my feet. Their rattles hummed against my shoes. Then something, ever so lightly, brushed against the back of my knee.
“I won’t let them strike,” Mike promised me, reading the fear on my face. Another handler, the only woman on the team, took photos with my phone.
I stood as still as I could, doing my best to breathe and act relaxed. At the same time I was scared that my breath would cause a shift in my hips or ankles, a welcoming gesture for a snake just waiting to sink its fangs.
Once the snakes settled around my feet—six of them circled me—T.J. wrapped what he promised was a non-poisonous snake around my shoulders. Either end rested in the crooks between my thumbs and forefingers, and I held it gently as it stared into my eyes, flicking its forked tongue.
I glanced down at the snakes coiled around my feet. Their rattles hummed against my shoes. Then something, ever so lightly, brushed against the back of my knee. I didn’t move—stopped breathing, even. My heart pounded.
“I’m done,” I said. “Get me out of here.”
- See more at: http://thislandpress.com/09/18/2013/snakes-on-a-plain/?read=complete#sthash.Rs6IdM34.dpuf
