A Love Story of a Very Different Kind
Meet my little Bob, who thinks he’s hiding (photo by author)
“We are all different. Don’t judge, understand instead.” — Roy T. Bennett, ‘The Light In The Heart’
This is a love story of a very different kind. And it is one I would never have believed could become such an important part of my life.
I met him many years ago with no idea that one day, I would fall hopelessly in love with him. Nor could I have known about the powerful connection we would share.
It was during a Sunday stroll through a shopping mall with “Mr. X,” my now-former husband. At this juncture, I have to say that I am a woman but I did not get the shopping gene. However, Mr. X loved it so being a good little wife, I accompanied him on Sundays while he enjoyed poking into numerous shops at the mall. At least we were spending time together, talking and dreaming of the future.
There was a large pet shop in the mall and Mr. X particularly enjoyed having a peek at all the little furry creatures in the back. It was oddly out of character for him, as he was very much “The Tough Guy.” But he was loaded with contradictions so what was one more?
To get to the cute, furry pets, we had to pass through the reptile section. In retrospect, that was good thinking on the part of management; it was a great way to generate interest in animals that were not as commonly chosen to be family pets.
On one particular Sunday, on the way to the back of the pet shop, I noticed one of the snakes — a “yellow rat snake,” according to the sign — moving around in his tank. Properly called a vivarium for containing a snake, it was really a fish tank with a screen lid. And who says “vivarium” anyway?
All the other snakes were lying coiled up and not moving in their respective glasshouses. Each had a pile of plastic vines and leaves (which I would later learn was not merely bad taste in snake-tank-decorating; it was to help them shed their skin). Each had a heating lamp on one end, a water dish on the other, and that was about it. I stopped for a moment and looked at this busy little snake, who appeared to be trying to escape.
But it was not his lucky day.
I didn’t stop more than a moment or two and soon caught up with my husband where all the kittens, puppies, gerbils, and other four-footed fur babies lived.
Every Sunday thereafter during our mall-meandering and inevitable visit to the pet store, I stopped to watch Mr. Busy. And with each visit, I stayed a little longer before joining Mr. X with the furry kids.
I remember the first time the snake looked back at me. Usually, I left so quickly he would have barely had time to notice me, especially in a busy shop. But one day, although I’d only stopped for a minute to watch him, suddenly he was watching me, too.
He was beautiful, a gorgeous rust colour with brown saddles and pale creamy yellow underside. He was only about two and a half feet long (less than a metre) and I was mesmerised by his graceful, elegant movements.
On spotting me, he froze and stared right through me with his piercing dark eyes. I suppose it sounds silly to some but in that moment, I felt a deep and immediate bond with him. I’ve had numerous pets throughout my life and loved every one of them beyond description. But I hadn’t experienced a moment like this ever before.
It was as though his spirit and mine connected — and shared mutual messages of understanding.
After several long seconds, he returned to his escape attempts, moving along the top of the tank, checking in case a hole had miraculously appeared in the lid since his last pass.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped going to the back of the shop with Mr. X. I stayed to have a visit with Mr. Busy (who has just been given that name as I write this). Each time I stood there, he spent some time watching me watching him. When no one was around, I found myself speaking softly to him, even though as a snake, he had no external ears.
As the weeks passed and my interest in Mr. Busy grew, there came a point when during the mall-meandering I turned to Mr. X and said, “Can we go and visit my snake?”
“Sure, but don’t get any ideas about buying it. I’m not having that thing in the house.”
I couldn’t help but feel offended on behalf of the little snake. But I knew enough about Mr. X to choose my battles wisely.
With three of my five kids still at home, the older two still around a fair bit, and a busy homeopathy practice to run, I hadn’t really considered buying Mr. Busy until that moment. And Mr. X had unwittingly planted the seed.
Mr. Busy’s small tank was on a stand about three feet off the ground, the perfect height for children to come and stick their faces up against the glass or knock loudly on it. I witnessed this on a few occasions and Mr. Busy always reacted by frantically trying to escape.
I stopped the children and said they were frightening him; they always listened and moved on but of course, I wasn’t there most of the time. No doubt he was terrorised by curious children on a daily basis.
It was easy to understand why every time I saw him, he was moving around his tank, always at the top as if searching for a way out. I suppose that was how he spent his days; his only peace would have been after 9 pm when the shop closed.
The Bond Grows Stronger
I began to look forward to my weekly visits with Mr. Busy. On every occasion, he stopped what he was doing and stared back at me. Sometimes he would move around his tank a little — much more slowly as if he was calmed by my presence. Not searching for a way out but more like getting comfortable and then returning his attention to me.
On one of my visits with Mr. Busy, a long-haired staff member, Scott, stopped to chat with me. He was the shop’s reptile expert and had several snakes and other reptiles of his own. I expressed my concern about the children and that this little snake always seemed to be trying to escape.
Scott said snakes need hideouts and none of the snakes in the shop had one (not for lack of effort on his part in getting management to fix that). They become stressed when constantly exposed because they’re timid creatures by nature and prefer to stay out of sight.
It was interesting that the other snakes didn’t seem too bothered but perhaps their lack of movement was their own way of “hiding” and hoping not to be noticed, while Mr. Busy kept trying to “get out of Dodge.”
“This little guy is a bit of an escape artist,” said Scott, referring to Mr. Busy. “One time, he was gone for a whole month. One day, we got a call from a women’s shoe store upstairs, asking if we were missing a snake. Apparently, a staff member was ringing in a purchase and when the cash drawer popped out of the register, there he was.”
I have often wondered if that woman ended up in therapy — and gave up every thought of a career in sales.
Scott had lots of information to share about Mr. Busy and snakes in general. I was rapidly becoming fascinated by these amazing animals.
Fascinating Facts
For example, they have all the same organs as we do, yes, even gall bladder, pancreas, and spleen. They don’t have an appendix like humans, but neither do most other animals. It’s not an essential organ anyway; it’s interesting that their evolution shows only a trace of an appendix while we must still put up with the trouble they can cause.
Snakes have one very lo-o-o-o-ong lung on one side of the body, and on the other side there is a tiny undeveloped lung bud. Their lungs are highly efficient and some land snakes (like rat snakes) can stay under water for up to an hour.
They have two kidneys but although they’re on opposite sides of the body, as with ours, one is higher than the other to accommodate the long, narrow body.
They do not have external ears but they compensate by being exceptionally sensitive to vibrations. They know exactly where other creatures or people are in relation to themselves.
Their tongues are incredibly sensitive to temperature, able to sense a difference of 1/100th degree C from a few centimeters away. The tongue is essential to determining whether or not an object is prey. It gathers scent molecules in the air, depositing them in the Jacobson organ — a scent organ in the roof of the mouth. Snakes can literally taste the air.
Their entire evolution has been focused into the gut. They have digestive juice that is so potent, it can reduce an entire animal to uric acid. Hair, hoof, bone, claws— the whole animal is digested.
Many people are frightened of snakes and think they’re completely foreign creatures to us. But they’re really just long vertebrates without limbs. Some have up to 400 vertebrae.
They have ribs, one pair per vertebra (except for the “neck” area). The ribs extend all the way down the length of the snake (not including the tail) to protect its organs. Each set of ribs has muscles attached to it, allowing a sort of caterpillar-like crawling for movement — which is lightning fast.
One of the reasons people commonly fear snakes is they believe they’re all venomous and therefore, automatically deadly. The truth is that of about 3600 species of snakes in the world, only about 600 are venomous. Plus most snakes prefer not to bite; they will warn by hissing and will try to get away. They’re usually far more afraid of you than you could ever be of them.
Here’s a short video of a man who stopped to help this rat snake cross a busy road. You’ll see there is no aggression from the snake — and watch how it climbs a smooth surface — with no arms or legs!
And a surprising fact about snakes: they have two penises — called hemipenes, which they keep tucked inside their bodies until a date goes really well…🙄 🤦🏻♀️
One of the most intriguing facts about snakes is that they bond with their owners. Those bonds are at least as strong as those with more “normal” pets like dogs, cats, and horses.
Perhaps my feeling that strong bond and connection with this little guy wasn’t so silly after all. Perhaps he felt my compassion for him being trapped and terrorised. Perhaps he knew he had my heart.
(I’ll share some astonishing experiences with this in the rest of this series, including a twist I could never have foreseen that will change your view of snakes — and all animals — unless you have experienced it yourself.)
The more I learned about snakes — from Scott and my own research — the more fascinated I became. And it turned out the Bob wasn’t a yellow rat snake. Breeders never did figure it out what kind of rat snake he was; his colouring and markings were unique, making him extra special.
The Turning Point
Mr. X and I went to that shopping mall sometimes on Thursday evenings. We enjoyed its food court for a delicious but inexpensive meal. Food courts were always especially appealing for us as we had wildly different tastes. I could enjoy my meat-free, super healthful veggie-based meals while he loaded up on half a pig or a cow plus a load of fat, salt, and sugar.
There came a particular Thursday evening several months after I had met Mr. Busy. After Mr. X and I had finished our food court meal, I asked, “Can we go and visit my snake?”
And off we went, down the escalator to the pet shop (which reminds me…if it’s an “escalator,” shouldn’t it only ever go up? I think we need a new name for the ones that go down).
Upon arriving at Mr. Busy’s tank, I was horrified to see the price for him had been cut in half. “Oh, no! Someone’s going to buy him! I’ll never get to see him again!”
I was completely distraught. Only then did I understand just how deep my connection with that little snake had become. I was terribly upset that this might be the last time I ever got to visit my little buddy.
Scott happened by at that point and I told him of my distress. He said the rat snake had been there for months and they needed to make room for new reptiles. I was beside myself.
I can’t even tell you how shocked I was when out of the blue, Mr. X said, “Well…as long as I don’t ever have to touch it, you can get it.”
I was over the moon! We were going to need time to prepare; having a snake isn’t like having a cat, putting it on the floor and showing it the litter box.
I paid for my little pal and said I’d be back to collect him the next day. Mr. X and I went to Walmart for a temporary housing option and other essentials, like a hideout and water dish.
On the way home, I contemplated names with Mr. X. I thought of “Mice Nake,” — after all those months of calling him that…🤓. I’d call him “Mice” for short. I thought it would be fun especially because at that stage, he was eating mice and you know what they say, “You are what you eat.”
But another name found its way to my consciousness and I cracked up instantly. It was perfect.
“His name is Bob!”
Yes. Bob would do just fine.
We hadn’t found a suitable hideout option at Walmart. Back at home, I found a shoebox, cut a hole for a door at one end and turned the box upside down. I wrote on the side, “Bob’s Hideout.” I popped it in his new plastic box with holes drilled in it by Mr. X and the following morning went to collect my little buddy.
I was unprepared for what would happen when I arrived at the shop…
One of Bob’s favourite ways to spend time… being jewellery 😆
Part 2 of 6
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
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.
Photo by author — Bob, a few years old, different tank, but still had his beloved log. It helped a lot with shedding as snakes need something rough to start the peeling process on the sides of their mouths
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.
Part 3 of 6
Yes, Virginia, snakes really do have personalities
Photo courtesy of Northamptonshire Evening Telegraph: Yours truly, holding Fluffy, one of my boa constrictors
“You cannot depend on your judgment when your imagination is out of focus.”
— Mark Twain
I understand that many people are frightened of snakes. And it’s true that sometimes, snake bites can be lethal.
However, it’s also true that it happens a lot less often than people think, and that snakes have an unwarranted terrible reputation. It’s easy to let our imaginations run away with us when fear and judgment are calling the shots.
And what would happen if you used your imagination to see beyond the fear and judgment? How might the world look then? How might it open up for you?
That’s why I’m writing this series about snakes in general, and about my little buddy, Bob, in particular.
Snakes are much misunderstood and maligned. It doesn’t help that many cultures have a negative Biblical narrative running through their collective subconscious saying that snakes are evil. Nor is it useful to hear nasty people referred to as “snakes.”
If you had met Bob, you couldn’t possibly have called him evil or nasty. He had so much character! He was sweet and funny, full of mischief, and had loads of personality. Those piercing dark eyes would have looked right through you, making you certain he knew every one of your deepest, darkest secrets.
And at the same time, his lovely, gentle energy would have reassured you that he would keep every one of them safe, and never betray you.
Any time I took him with me when I was visiting snake breeder friends, or to see a vet, they always commented on how unusually bright, alert and curious he was.
And even though snakes bond with their owners, they also commented on how very attached to me he was. Much more so than usual for a snake.
On the subject of his curiosity…
One day, my (now former) husband, “Mr. X,” was putting together a cabinet for me. He was doing it on the floor of my office, where Bob’s tank was. Bob was extremely interested in the proceedings, watching every move Mr. X made.
At one point, Mr. X moved to the other side of the cabinet, blocking Bob’s view. Bob went to the opposite end of his tank straining sideways so he could see what was going on.
And sure enough, when Mr. X went back to his original position and blocked Bob’s view again, Bob went back to the other side so he could see.
When it came to meeting new people, typical of snakes he was naturally timid. However, unusually he was also curious about them. If I was holding him draped around my shoulders, he felt braver to extend his upper body and check out someone he didn’t know.
He was eight feet long when fully grown so he could stretch quite far while still having four to five feet of himself safely wrapped around Mummy’s shoulders.
I could see how much he trusted me every time he met someone new. He knew I wouldn’t allow anyone near him who would hurt him, although sometimes, he’d do a sudden U-turn and retreat to the safety of my hair. It was the Bob version of a little kid yelling, “Mummy!” and running to grab his mother’s legs and hide in her skirt.
But after a minute or two, he would slowly return to see who the new person was. And he would always let them hold him for a few minutes.
Because of his gentle, inquisitive nature and those bright eyes, people found him to be quite engaging. They began to understand what I meant about him having loads of personality. I always said if he had been a person, he’d have been a six-year-old boy in overalls, spending his days outside exploring and doing little-boy things.
And his pockets would have been filled with frogs, rocks, and other little-boy treasures.
His tank was always a disaster. With great regularity, he overturned his hideout, messed up the towel, dumped his water bowl (except when curling up under it to try to hide…go figure…), scattered his toys all over the place — and generally kept it looking like he’d had a party in there.
A Bit About Boas
I had other snakes eventually, too, and none of them did any of this to their tanks. In fact, there was one…one of my Colombian boa constrictors, Fluffy, who was terrified of everything, rarely left his hideout, and whose “room” (tank) was always neat as a pin. You’d never have known anyone was in there.
While I’m on the subject of boas, they are one of the best snakes to have as pets because they’re docile and are quite happy to be handled. They’re stocky, heavy snakes and are content to have you drape them along the back of your sofa while you watch telly together.
They’re easygoing and good-natured, and lovely to hold. Bob was a more active snake, typical of his breed, but the boas would just curl up on your lap or around your shoulders and not move.
There is something wonderfully calming and soothing about holding a snake. Yes, really. No, I’m not kidding.
Here’s a prime example of that: By the time I grew up, my childhood music teacher, Irene, had become highly successful. She had a couple of enormous music stores with studio facilities for several teachers. My daughter, Willow, was taking piano lessons from one of them.
While waiting for Willow during her lesson one day at the music store, I chatted with Irene and the long story made short is that she admitted to being utterly terrified of snakes. I convinced her to meet “Binky,” one of my boas, during Willow’s next lesson, saying she didn’t even have to touch him.
The following week, I took Binky along to meet Irene during the half-hour lesson. He and I sat on one side of Irene’s massive desk while she was quite happy to stay on the other. After watching him with me for a few minutes, she commented on how calming it was just watching him.
Shortly after that, she asked if she could touch him.
She was astonished at how beautifully soft he was. It’s difficult to describe the feeling of snake skin; it’s definitely not slimy. It is dry and slightly textured and feels absolutely wonderful.
Irene was also amazed at how soothing and relaxing it was to stroke him. It put her at ease almost immediately.
Within minutes, she had my boa draped behind her neck and across her shoulders. By the end of Willow’s half-hour lesson, Irene was wandering all over her shop wearing Binky like a “feather boa” and showing her staff her “new mascot.”
And did I mention how gorgeous boas are? Below is a photo of Fluffy (not fully grown yet) playing in my hair. Snakes love hair; perhaps it’s “hair envy,” haha.
Or maybe they just enjoy the feel of hair the way people enjoy the feel of snakes.
Photo courtesy of Northamptonshire Evening Telegraph: This author holding Fluffy, boa constrictor
More About Bob
When Bob was little (up to about three feet long, or one metre), there were a few times he played “belt” by literally going through some of the belt loops on my jeans and staying around my waist while I moved through my house doing dishes etc. I usually wore a sweater/cardigan so he was mostly hidden, which snakes love — and rat snakes in particular.
Another fave — although it didn’t last long because he was growing well — was that I sometimes wore overalls at home. They had large, deep pockets and for a while, Bob could crawl inside and curl up while I sat (legs outstretched) and read.
For a few years, I had a television on top of the wardrobe in my bedroom. I would sit on my bed and Bob would climb up the front of me, slipping under my sweater at the shoulder and disappearing down the sleeve. He would peek out the wrist and stare up at the television, enjoying the movement and colour.
Thinking he was hiding, he didn’t realise that there were a few feet of him hanging down the front of me and not tucked into the sleeve of my sweater.
I tried various recommended floor coverings for my snakes’ tanks, rolls of newspaper (unprinted), wood shavings (terrible, especially during feeding), even paper towels. I settled on bath towels. I folded them in half for extra thickness. They were soft, comfy, and washable.
Out of all my snakes, Bob was the only one who saw the potential in his lovely floor coverings. He stopped sleeping in his hideout and instead, began tucking himself in every night by crawling under his towel until he was completely covered.
Actually, to be specific, he crawled between the two layers of towel…as if he were climbing between the sheets on a bed.
Like his Mum, he took his time about getting out of bed in the morning. He liked to wake up slowly, same as I did. On the rare occasion I got up first, I’d see this:
Photo by this author: Bob’s first peek at daylight, not quite ready to get out of bed yet.
He went to bed a lot earlier than I did most nights and I was often still sleeping when he woke up. As I began to wake, I’d get the distinct feeling I was being watched. I would pry open one eye, glance across the room and see this:
Photo by author: Bob was usually better at mornings than I was
Yes, my little pal was adorable. Such fun. And the sweetest energy you could ever hope to experience. I loved him more than I could ever put into words.
But all was not roses for our journey together. Oh, no. Things were going to become quite turbulent and my sweet Bob would pay a hefty price…
Part 4 of 6
When we inadvertently hurt the ones we love most
Photo of this author: Morning kiss as Bob gives Mum a full body hug
“If I miss you any harder, my heart might come looking for you.” — Gemma Troy
In Parts 1 through 3, I shared the story of how and why I fell in love with my little pal, Bob, pictured above having a morning cuddle with Mummy. I’ve shared some of his antics and what made him so special, although to be honest, you’d have had to meet him to truly appreciate his unique character and energy.
I’ve also shared that every snake breeder or vet who ever met Bob commented on how bright and curious he was, and how attached he was to me. Although snakes do bond with their owners, it was easy to see that Bob and I had a much deeper and more special connection than is usual.
Many people would have no idea that snakes are sentient beings. But as I explained in Part 1, there are a lot of similarities between snakes and humans. Snakes are vertebrates with all the same organs that we have. They can get cancer. They can get arthritis. They can get cataracts, heart disease, and stress-related illnesses. They have adrenal glands, hormones, and an endocrine system. And although it isn’t common, they can even become diabetic.
In so many ways they’re like you and I, like your cat or hamster. They just don’t have limbs or external ears.
Affected by their surroundings? Yes. Capable of feelings? Absolutely. Just like dogs can be excited to see someone they know or they can be angry and snap at someone they don’t like. Animals have feelings and memories just like we do. Well, snakes are animals, and they have feelings and memories, too.
This short, emotional video has me in tears every time…two horses separated for almost a decade are reunited. I dare you to watch it and think animals are incapable of emotions.
My Little Buddy
I have written plenty here about my traumatic childhood. I’ve shared a lot about how toxic childhood beliefs led to a tumultuous adult life that included multiple divorces and a diagnosis of Complex PTSD.
I’ve written about various aspects of my long healing journey. And I was still in the thick of it when I met my beloved little Bob.
I don’t want to bog you down with too many details of what was happening in my personal life, or why, because it will derail us from the point of this story. So please forgive me if certain aspects seem unclear or disjointed; I will do my best to make my points without confusing you.
For various reasons, Bob was the only one of my pets I took with me on moving from Canada to England. And Willow was the only one of my children to accompany me. Although I was embarking on a new life and (yes, another) new marriage and everything should have been exciting and wonderful, there were ongoing massive family issues and crises that affected me even though I was on the other side of the planet.
All was well when we first got to England, although Bob’s stress showed in the first couple of sheds he had. They were difficult, his skin coming off in bits and pieces and generally indicating that all was not right in his world. Finally, several months on, he had a much more normal one — just before we moved to another part of England.
Throughout Bob’s years with me to that point, he had always been either in my bedroom or my office, the two places in which I spent the majority of my time. On making that second move with Bob, my (now former) husband and I put his tank (and Fluffy’s — we had just got him not long before moving) in my husband’s office. Their tanks were on one wall, and my husband’s desk was on the opposite wall, facing away from the boys. He worked from home a lot, plus spent endless hours at his desk doing computer projects in his off-hours.
The boys spent a lot of time looking at my husband’s back!
We were busy renovating the cottage and shortly after moving in, I had to return to Canada for several weeks when my father was dying. There were more challenges on returning but for the sake of this story, let’s just say that Bob’s and my first year (plus) in England were more than a little stressful.
Not long after I returned to England, I was aware that Bob had gone off his food. Normally, every ten days to two weeks he ate one good-sized rat (already dead; not good to feed snakes live animals and I couldn’t do it anyway).
At that time, I was using a child’s booster seat as a hideout. All snakes need a place to hide, as I outlined in Part 1; it is essential for their emotional and physical health and wellbeing. When all was right in Bob’s world, he spent a good part of his days “sitting in his chair” — the top of the booster seat:
Author’s photo: Bob, happy in his “chair”
But all was not right in his world. He was virtually always in his hideout. When I’d walk past the boys’ tanks, he was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been in his chair for ages.
A few weeks after I got back from Canada, something terrified me. One night, Bob was racing around and around his tank, circling the perimeter over and over again, hissing, hissing, hissing. He was obviously distressed or perhaps in pain. I’d never seen anything like it. He carried on like that for about an hour before suddenly disappearing into his hideout.
It was time to go to the vet.
Blood tests and a physical exam revealed nothing. Bob was losing weight. The vet didn’t know why. For two months, every other day I had to make the 40-mile round-trip journey to the vet to have a tube shoved down Bob’s throat so he could be force-fed liquid nutrition. Can I just say…he detested being in his travel box; it was massively stressful for him — and he was none too impressed with the force-feeding, either. Can’t say I blame him.
We reached a point where the vet said he must have a rare or unknown reptile virus or illness. He said if we couldn’t get Bob to eat in another week, we would need to consider putting him down. It wasn’t fair to make him live like this.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine doing that to my little Bob; nor could I imagine continuing as we were. Completely distraught, I told a friend about this in tears. I was stunned when she referred me to an animal communicator in Florida, saying maybe he could help.
I remember years earlier, hearing about animal communicators and thinking the idea was ridiculous. What’s even more ridiculous is that since I was a kid, I’ve been a psychic and medium, communicating with spirits and connecting with energy. Why did I think animal communication was silly?
Anyway, I was desperate. Figured I’d give it a try. I set up an appointment with this man — Mason — on the phone. As soon as he tuned in to Bob’s energy, the first thing he said was, “Bob says he misses you.”
I said, “What? I don’t understand. I’m here all the time!”
“He says he never sees you anymore. He used to be with you most of the day and now he’s in another room.”
My jaw hit my lap.
“And he says Dad spends most of his time with his back to him.”
Oh, my God. There’s only one way he could know that. Bob is really talking to him.
We talked back and forth — Bob and I, through Mason, and at the end of it, he said that if I put him where he could be with me more, he would eat three days later.
That night, my husband and I moved the boys into our bedroom. Sure enough, Bob ate a big fat rat three days later. All was well and he was back in his chair most of the time, or perhaps playing in his log or curled up around his rock.
I felt so bad about having neglected my little buddy. He had always been there when I needed a little cuddle and I used to spend hours talking to him, sometimes just chattering away to him about my patients and asking him what he thought I should give them…as if he could really hear me.
And since moving to the cottage, my life was taken over by other things and I had let him down badly. Forgiving soul that he was, he still loved his Mummy and was happy for cuddles.
However, I would soon learn that my ongoing, turbulent emotional life would take a toll on him that I could never have imagined.
Part 5 of 6
The beginning of the end
“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” ~ Thomas Campbell
That first astonishing experience with Mason, the animal communicator, left me reeling. How could I have not seen what was going on with my little Bob? I suppose it was because I was deep in my own emotional issues and family “stuff” in Canada while settling into my new life in England. I knew we were closely connected but I guess even I didn’t realise just how close.
After the conversation with Mason, I was more mindful of spending time with Bob again. He ate regularly and was happily in his chair much of the time.
Although he did still appreciate a slow start to his day…as I mentioned in Part 3, see what I mean about how he managed to tuck himself in between the layers of towel, just as if he were climbing in between sheets? Clever little Bob.
Photo by author: Bob tucked himself into bed, as usual.
For a while, things were calmer for the most part and life was manageable.
Fluffy, the boa, had been no bigger than a foot-long pencil when we’d got him a few years earlier. His hideout had been the inside of a cardboard toilet paper roll. He curled up and fit in the center of my palm. He was growing quickly and was strong, healthy, and ate well. He would eventually be eight feet long and a thick, stocky, very muscular snake.
A couple of years later, Willow wanted to move back to Canada. She adored England but was struggling with the rigid and unreasonable (by Canadian standards) school rules (understated). Plus life in rural England made it difficult to see friends or do much. I was terribly upset when finally, the decision was made one miserable, emotional Sunday. She would move back to Canada.
On Monday, Bob was acting up again…that same awful hissing, circling behaviour I mentioned in Part 4. Then he disappeared into his hideout and refused to eat for the next few weeks.
I set up another appointment with Mason. As always, I did not give any hint of what was happening in my world. I said nothing more than Bob was hiding and off his food again.
On tuning in, he said, “Does Willow have dark hair?”
“Yes.”
Silence. And then with an incredulous tone… “Is Willow moving back to Canada?”
Apparently, Bob was going to miss her. But his bigger concern was for me and how upset I was at the prospect of her leaving. Mason determined that what Bob needed was for me to tell him I would be fine, and that he didn’t have to worry. I would miss her but I’d be okay. I said everything he needed me to say.
He told Mason he would eat the next day. And he did.
Several months later, my husband revealed two huge secrets that ended my marriage. I was devastated; thought I’d finally found my Happily Ever After and what came up was totally unexpected. There was a lot going on after that; it was a terrible time and somewhere in the midst of the chaos, once again Bob wasn’t himself and stopped eating.
Another appointment with Mason. He tuned in. “Has your husband moved out?”
I swear to you…he never got it wrong.
And again, Bob was sensing my emotional upset. The poor darling, every time my emotional life was in turmoil (which was all too often), he felt it. He needed to know I would be all right on every occasion.
I’m only giving you a few of the stories but there were several times over those years where Mason helped me understand what was upsetting Bob. And it always had to do with him worrying about my emotional life because of the ongoing changes, challenges, and trauma in my own world or with my family.
Finally, things were more settled for a period of time. What a blessed relief. Life seemed okay again and all was well…
One night, I stuck my hands in Fluffy’s tank to give him fresh water. He was in his hideout — as usual — and lightning-fast, he shot out of his hideout (just his head), he bit the back of my hand and was gone again. It happened so fast, I saw nothing but a blur. In seconds, my hand was swelling and bleeding. A boa’s teeth point inward, making it hard for prey to escape so there was some tearing of tissue with the punctures when he removed his teeth from my flesh.
Yes, it hurt, although it wasn’t that bad. Mostly, I was in shock. I was shaking and crying; I felt utterly betrayed by my boy. That was far more upsetting than a bit of pain in my hand. How could he do this to me?
As a homeopath, I knew some remedies to take for shock, plus the swelling and pain. All were fine within an hour but I knew there was a reason for Fluffy to have bitten me. Wondering if he was hungry, I fed him the next day. He ate quite readily. Okay, better feed him more often, or bigger rats.
Snakes don’t give you a lot of information; you have to do a lot of guesswork based on the bits they do show you. He was still growing so it made sense that his appetite would increase at some point.
But two weeks later, he refused his rat. I thought perhaps he was about to shed (snakes don’t eat before or during the ten-day process). But he wasn’t. He kept refusing to eat for the following few weeks.
Snakes don’t show a lot of symptoms when they’re sick and it takes a long time for anything to seem “off.” It can also take a long time for them to get better.
He refused his next feed and I knew something was wrong. I started with the vet but her suggestions didn’t work. I didn’t think of calling Mason because it seemed more likely that Fluffy was sick than emotionally upset, as he had never shown any such indications previously.
Over the next few months, my (ex)husband and I followed the vet’s advice but still Fluffy wouldn’t eat.
In the meantime, Bob had stopped eating, too. Mason was unavailable for a period of time. I contacted another animal communicator who had a good reputation with horses but did not typically work with snakes. She didn’t pick up any emotional issues for him but she did say there was something wrong in Bob’s tummy…she said his stomach was twisted in an unusual way, and he was in pain.
She said a few other things that didn’t make much sense so I wasn’t sure I could trust her. Especially as she was saying she had no idea if she was good with snakes. Had to give her credit for being honest.
I’d just have to wait for Mason. In the meantime, I thought I’d try Bob on a mouse, and he ate it. This was encouraging, and I managed to get him to eat another mouse or two before giving him a small rat. I spaced his feeds farther apart. He didn’t always eat but at least it was progress. Or so I thought.
Meanwhile, Fluffy hadn’t eaten in months. This was a huge concern. I was so relieved when finally, I could have an appointment with Mason again.
The first thing he said was, “Fluffy says he wants a blood test.”
Oh, no. Those are so unpleasant for a snake. Vets can’t see veins like in furry creatures. They have to guess at a place under the tail that sometimes works for finding a vein, and if it doesn’t, they have to take blood directly from the heart.
“Does he know what’s involved with having it done?”
“Yes. He says there’s something wrong with his blood and that’s where the answer is. From what I’m picking up from him, I’m going to say it’s cancer.”
Fluffy was only 6 years old. Boas can live to be 40. He was an adolescent. How could this be?
Mason continued. “He says he doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t like this life. It’s not you or your home or anything about you. He just doesn’t like living. He has never liked being alive. He’s done. He wants out.”
“Is that why he always hides? Is that why he has never liked being held?” — so unusual for a boa.
“He says yes. He’s ready to go.”
And as if that wasn’t enough, things took a turn for the worse with Bob, too…
Part 6 of 6
A terrible goodbye. I don’t want to write this chapter…
“If tears could build a stairway, and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to Heaven and bring you home again.”
— Author unknown
Things unravelled quickly with both my boys. According to Mason, the animal communicator, Fluffy said the answer to his illness would be in his blood and it was cancer. Bob was off his food again and didn’t seem himself.
Both needed the vet; that was clear.
The boys had such a wonderful vet. She was great with them. As I was fishing Fluffy out of his travel box, I told her exactly what Mason had said. “He wants a blood test; the answer is in his blood. He says it’s cancer.”
She looked at Fluffy’s gums and said, “He’s definitely anaemic so there’s something going on in his blood.”
To cut a long story short…the blood test revealed that Fluffy did, indeed, have leukaemia. And there wasn’t anything that could be done.
As for my little Bob, his blood work was suspicious, too. I told the vet what that other animal communicator had said, that Bob’s stomach was twisted.
On X-ray, they discovered that it was, indeed, twisted. The vet had never seen that before. And they found a tumour in his tummy, too.
She said they could do surgery but it would be horrible for him. It would be painful and it would mean a long recovery. He was 13, a good age for a rat snake, although he could have another year or two if we were lucky. She asked me what I wanted to do.
I want him to live forever — that’s what I want, damn it!!
I rang Mason. Never mind what I want; I needed to know what Bob wanted.
Oh, God, I’m in floods of tears just remembering…that conversation was Thursday, 1 April, 2010 and all these years later, I still haven’t got over what unfolded…
My sweet Bob told Mason he did not want the surgery. He was in a lot of pain. He didn’t want to suffer anymore. But he was worried about me; he knew how desperately I didn’t want him to go. He knew how terribly lost I would feel without him and he needed to know I’d be okay.
(How did I ever think I could write this story…I can’t stop crying…)
Fluffy was too weak to speak for himself, so he communicated through Bob. They wanted to go together…but they were both concerned that it would be too much for me.
Fluffy thought Bob should be allowed to go first because he was in a lot of pain. He said he could wait if it was too much for me to lose both of them at once.
I was — and still am — so overwhelmed by their love, their selflessness and compassion for me even when they were both suffering. They were more concerned about me than their own pain.
And of course, the only way I could show my love and gratitude for that was to let them go just as they wanted — together.
We shared some final words through Mason and I hung up — absolutely in pieces.
I talked with my (former)husband. We made back-to-back appointments for both boys to leave this world on Saturday, two days later. It was going to be ugly; the vet would have to inject directly into the heart because they can’t see veins in snakes. The boys would be awake and aware.
I thought I would be sick.
I asked the vet if I could bring Bob home till then. She advised against it as he was in so much pain and needed frequent meds. She said I could come early on Saturday and spent his last few hours with him.
In the meantime, I had a chance to spend some time with Fluffy. I would be at the vet’s all Saturday morning with Bob; my husband would take Fluffy for his appointment after Bob’s.
We agreed that I would not see Fluffy that day, not after being with Bob. I wouldn’t have been able to bear it. I told Fluffy this and thanks to Mason after all those years, I knew he heard and understood.
Fluffy would be okay with Dad. And Dad would be loving and kind with Fluffy. It was easier to make peace with Fluffy’s physical death because he didn’t want to be here. He had been unhappy for his whole young life. We had our goodbye time together and I wished him peace and happiness on the other side.
The Terrible Goodbye
I sat in a tiny room that Saturday morning. A kind woman spoke softly to Bob as she handed him to me ever so gently.
In an instant, he slid around the back of my neck under my hair, like always, and coiled himself tightly around my shoulders. He had never clung to me like that before…as if he was hanging on for dear life.
And I suppose he was.
He had always given me little “kisses” when we sat like that, a few little flicks of his tongue or touches of his nose so delicately against my cheek. And it was the same that morning.
I stroked him the whole time. I tried not to cry; he didn’t need that. My years of conversations with him via Mason had taught me that he could always hear my thoughts and feel my emotions; I had to be strong for my boy that day. He had always been there for me, feeling my pain, feeling my fear, feeling my sadness.
He was the most powerful little empath on the planet. And he had been trying to take care of me for all our years together.
It was time for him to stop worrying about me, to stop carrying my pain and my fear, my sadness — even though I never wanted that from him; he had done it anyway.
I talked to him about all the fun memories we shared, the goofy things he had done, how much I loved him, and how very glad I was to have been blessed by his presence in my life.
It was time for me to thank him for being such a wonderful friend, a true soul mate.
If only I could have turned back time…but of course, it marches on.
And then the door opened.
The same kind woman stood there wearing a sad smile and telling me it was time.
I followed her through to the room where they would end my little Bob’s earthly life. As soon as we walked in, Bob tightened his grip around my body like never before. He knew what was coming…and I knew he was afraid.
And I couldn’t do anything to help him.
One woman held him up while the vet listened to find his heart. I asked them to hold him so he could see me the whole time. As horrible as it was for me to watch what they were going to do to him, it was worse for him to go through it. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw.
The syringe was enormous. The needle was so long. Two people held my sweet Bob; the fear in his eyes haunts me still.
It seemed to take forever for the vet to empty that damned syringe into his little heart. I wondered if it burned. I wondered if he was suffering. I wondered if he was relieved it would soon be over.
And when the syringe was finally empty, they let me hold him while the drugs did their worst. I whispered to my boy. I told him it was okay to let go…I held him in my arms feeling his breath on my neck.
It seemed to take forever…and I wished it would. I didn’t want him to stop breathing.
But then…suddenly…he went completely limp. And there were no more breaths.
My precious boy was gone.