I touched a snake, and I liked it.
Well, not exactly. But it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and by that I mean it wasn't slimy. It wasn't pleasant, though. I spent the rest of the day feeling like my hands were covered in scales.
Going to the reptile show with a snake phobia was more difficult than I thought it would be, and Saturday morning found me in my car in the Centennial Centre parking lot, watching some children in the skate park and trying to talk myself into opening the door and going inside.
I did, eventually, dragging Emily, the Nouvelle's summer student, with me to act as a bodyguard to stand between me and whichever snake looked most threatening.
There were a lot of threatening snakes.
But after minutes of inching closer to the children cuddling the squirmy creatures, snapping a quick photo, and then scrambling away, barely able to restrain my nausea and panic, I decided that if they could do it, so could I.
I touched a massive, albino boa constrictor. It wasn't slimy – it was actually kind of soft, but still icky.
After barely coming away from that encounter with my limbs intact (and not crushed and consumed by massive, terrifying snakes), I continued on with my weekend, which took me to Cold Lake for a golf tournament on Sunday.
As I was pulling up to the course, golf greens to my right and a bit of forest to my left, I caught sight of what I thought to be a massive black dog ambling up out of the ditch. I turned my head and realized it was not a dog at all, but a black bear, about two feet away from my car.
There was an endless moment in which the bear and I made startled eye contact before I gathered my wits to scream some obscenities about how a bear had nearly smashed into my car. The bear chose that moment to panic and dash back into the ditch. After I passed, I pulled over and watched, and the bear dashed across the road and onto the golf course.
It seemed startled by the lack of tree cover, ran in a petrified little circle on the fairway, and then disappeared into some trees, dashing towards the 10th hole and disappearing onto the course.
I was pretty excited about it, and bounced into the clubhouse to tell everyone of my close encounter. They were less excited.
It's only fun and games until someone gets mauled, I guess (but don't worry, no one did).
These close encounters with potentially frightening wildlife helped me get over some fears and preconceived notions about the sliminess of snakes. They also brightened up a somewhat dreary day, and helped bears inch up my personal list of favourite animals, which has been dominated by sea creatures like whales and manatees up until this point.
However, these positive encounters came with a bit of a tragic footnote.
As I was driving out of Cold Lake, a tiny, adorable, and beloved gopher dashed in front of my car and there was nothing I could do except close my eyes and scream (and that probably wasn't even as safe as it could have been, I'm pretty sure keeping your eyes open is a requirement of driving). With the oncoming traffic and the traffic behind me, there was nowhere to swerve or stop.
As my car barrelled over the fragile gopher's body, I couldn't help but see it as a warning, a cautionary tale. As humankind continues encroaching on the natural habitats of animals, more and more of them meet tragic ends.
If I had come driving up the road a few seconds later, the bear and I may not have had such a cordial meeting.
If those snakes hadn't been domesticated since birth, they may not have been quite so cool with being draped over the shoulders of Bonnyville's snake-loving toddlers.
I didn't feel a bump as I sped over that little gopher, so maybe it lived. If it hadn't died beneath my tires, however, there are millions of other cars on the roads just waiting to end the life of that gopher or any of its family or friends.
But the bear was still cool, though.
