Inspiration | Trust | Snakes

A Love Story of a Very Different Kind: Part 2

The most precious gift of trust came from an unlikely new friend

“Trust is not an obsession, it’s an extension of love. When we truly love someone, we give them our heart to hold in their hands. And when that love is returned, that very trust is balm to our souls.”

— Julie Lessman

Picking up where I left off in Part 1, after the months-long “courtship” and bonding with a little snake in a pet shop, my (now-former) husband, “Mr. X,” finally consented to my buying it.

The morning after paying for my little buddy and shopping for a temporary home for him, I arrived at the pet shop ready to collect him.

“I’m here to pick up the yellow rat snake! I bought him last night!” Excited beyond description, I was grinning from ear to ear.

The young woman gasped and screwed up her face. “You bought the yellow rat snake?”

My wide smile vanished in an instant.

“Ye-e-es…” I answered slowly, dreading what might be coming next.

“You can’t hold that thing,” she spat with a look of disgust.

“What do you mean?” Oh, no, what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a pet I can never touch?

“It just hisses and bites everyone. That thing isn’t a pet!” Every time she called him “that thing,” it felt like a physical assault. First, it felt so offensive toward this seemingly gentle animal I’d been loving for several months. And second, because what was I going to do with a biting, hissing snake?

Fortunately, Scott happened by. He had never said any of this about the rat snake and we’d spoken at length the night before about care instructions and what to feed him and so on.

“There’s nothing wrong with him. Remember when I told you how stressed he was for not having a hideout? And of course, all those little kids aggravating him?”

“Yes.”

“The staff here are really inconsiderate of the snakes, no matter what I’ve said to them. This poor little guy is already stressed and when they need to do anything like clean his tank or give him fresh water, they just yank the lid off, shove their hands inside and start doing things, or grab him. He’s terrified.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do with a terrified, biting snake?”

“Just give him time. Leave him alone. Keep him in a quiet part of your house. When you have to do anything in his box, move slowly. He was born in captivity but snakes are not remotely domesticated. They are still wild animals and they’re naturally afraid of people. Especially given that we’re so much bigger than they are.”

I was relieved. I could give this distressed and terrorised little snake the peace and healing he needed.

I just wished I’d been able to get him out of that nightmare sooner.

Our Journey Begins

Before I had settled on a proper permanent “house” for Bob, I had an interesting conversation with a hypnosis client one day. The short version is that we ended up with a three-way barter. I gave her hypnosis sessions, she did some work for a guy who owned an enormous fish and aquarium shop, and he made a large, beautiful tank for Bob, complete with a heat lamp.

We got the tank set up about two weeks after adopting Bob. I found a fake log at a pet shop and it had holes in it so he could crawl in and around and through it.

I got a plastic vegetable bin with an opening on one side, turned it upside down, and put the opening facing the back of his tank. Presto, is a washable hideout with its entrance hidden from view.

I also brought home a thick stick from one of my walks by the river. It fit perfectly on the diagonal from the bottom corner of the tank to the upper opposite one.

I set up his tank in my home office where I saw my clients for hypnosis and patients for homeopathy. I also did my early morning meditation, yoga, and spell-casting in there every day. Bob always peeked at me, watching everything I did. I loved being in that room; it had such lovely energy.

One evening just a few weeks after Bob joined the family, I was sitting in my office watching him. He was still pretty shy but seemed to enjoy his large, new home. He was often curled up in the corner behind his log, peeking at me over the top of it. I spent more time there in the evenings so he could get used to me being near and knowing I wasn’t going to hurt him.

He had been traumatised for his entire life until I adopted him. I could relate to that and I wanted to help him feel safe.

On that particular evening, a mere three weeks or so after bringing Bob home, I thought about the fact that someday he would die. This isn’t news to pet owners and it sure wasn’t news to me. I’d had — and lost — numerous cats since I was a kid, and a few dogs, too.

And sure, early on you think, “Someday, I’ll lose this animal.” But you don’t go to pieces about it.

Well, I sure did that day. Bob was about 1–1/2 years old at that time so if he remained healthy, we would have 12–14 years together. Yet as soon as I had that thought about losing him, I was in tears.

Apparently, that special bond we shared — right from that moment in the shop months earlier — went far deeper than I could have imagined.

Stepping Up the Trust

I waited a good six weeks between bringing Bob home and attempting to get closer to this traumatised, naturally timid creature. For a couple of evenings, I just stood in front of his tank, watching him for about half an hour. He was either behind his log or curled up inside and peeking out at me.

After two or three such evenings, I removed the top and slowly lowered my hand into the tank. Bob was curled up in the corner behind his log. Again, I stood motionless, while the two of us watched one another.

And then it happened.

Slowly, he began to move ever so slightly closer. Instead of just seeing his nose and dark eyes peering at me, I could see his whole head. Inch by inch, he moved a little closer, pausing now and then and never taking his eyes off me, as if to ask, “Is it really safe? Can I trust you?”

About 45 minutes into this adventure, my back was aching something fierce due to being bent in an unnatural position and at a poor angle. But I wasn’t about to stop. This precious, traumatised little soul was offering me a massive gift of trust and I wasn’t about to abuse it.

It took several more minutes but Bob continued to move closer to my arm, gazing up at me the whole time. Finally, he was sniffing at my forearm, his tiny tongue flicking in and out. He was so close that at times, his tongue inadvertently touched my skin. It was as delicate as the slightest touch of a feather.

I couldn’t believe he had come this close. I scarcely dared breathe. My back was screaming but my heart overflowed with joy and compassion for this sweet soul.

The Ultimate Gift

He didn’t stop there. After pausing to sniff my skin for a minute or two, ever so slowly and gently he began to climb up my arm. His body was cool, soft and smooth as he moved up to my right shoulder and behind my neck. Burying himself in my long hair, he rested his little head on my left shoulder, and curled the lower part of his body and tail around my upper right arm.

I swear he was hugging me…in gratitude for giving him a safe home, for honouring him, for having compassion for him, and for respecting him.

And if animals are capable of love — which I believe they are — it was a demonstration of that, too.

Slowly, I stood up properly, pulling my arm out of his tank in the process. With my left hand, I reached up and stroked his body.

And cried.

Continue with Part 3

Here is Part 1:

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