MUST LOVE DOGS
But some prefer serpents
Before describing a sparingly close encounter with the Snake Guy, I ought to outline my history of relationships with non-human species — specifically dogs.
The beginning of the canine chronicle coincides with the beginning of my life. Toby, an Airedale, stood faithfully by my parked baby carriage as I snoozed in the summer sun of Saint John, N.B.
I was five and Toby had passed on by the time my parents' marriage disintegrated. There ensued a 15-year dog drought during which my only pet, in a small Montreal apartment, was a turtle.
Fast-forward to university student life. Living in a series of down-market dumps near McGill University, my companion was a beagle.
Fast-forward again to my mid30s. The first surprise Christmas present from my future wife was a Boston terrier — the joyous debut of a six-dog series that currently features a miniature poodle I was walking when I met the aforementioned Snake Guy.
Dave Liebman lives two streets over in a suburban townhouse that's exactly like my own except for the resident pets.
I have a small dog. He has two large snakes: a python and a boa constrictor.
Dave and I are brothers from different mothers. We're both the Jewish sons of divorced parents (he was two when his split up). We're both cancer survivors who turned 73 this month.
He's a retired high school teacher. I was married to one.
“I taught 35 years,” Liebman said, “and I enjoyed every day of it.”
That describes my career in journalism.
But our taste in pets differs ... like, a lot. Liebman's enthusiasm for serpents began during his youth. Growing up in the suburbs, a preteen Liebman would capture garter snakes in nearby fields and bring them home.
At its peak, Liebman's collection was 36 snakes. I'm creeped out just writing that.
“I started out young,” Liebman recalls, “just trying to convince people that snakes aren't bad.”
He's bringing me around. On a recent sunny morning, I steeled my courage and visited Liebman's snake-abiding abode.
The walls are covered with very good Inuit art.
“This art makes me warm and comfortable,” Liebman said. I wish I'd shared the feeling. We chatted at his dining room table, beside which stood two large glass cages — heated to
80 F — containing Ali and Oakley, the snakes Liebman has had for a dozen years.
The boa constrictor bears its name because Liebman sold a Muhammad Ali autograph for $500 to buy the serpent. The second, a python, honours Liebman's late mother, whose given name was Annie.
Liebman began taking the snakes for outings, one at a time, in the nearby park during early COVID confinement. “I was taking walks to get out of the house,” he recalls, “and my wife said `Why don't you take one of the snakes with you?' That's how it started.”
There ensued wonderment and enthusiasm in our park. Children, in particular, are fascinated by Liebman's pets.
And unlike me, the kids are keen to have the snakes wrapped around their shoulders — like feather boas, only for real.
Liebman became a popular local character.
For a retired teacher, being surrounded by enthusiastic kids is, Liebman says, “like icing on the cake.”
The icing has melted, however. Early this month, the police told Liebman he has to keep the snakes at home. This bummed him out, but the law is the law. And the park is not a zoo.
Liebman and his Mrs. have a condo in Florida, and after missing the warmth last winter, they're hoping the border opens up.
But Ali and Oakley won't be airborne snow snakes. They'll be boarded and fed, for a cool fee of $500, until Liebman heads back north.
“These snakes are females and they hibernate throughout the winter,” Liebman explained. “They'll eat maybe a 10th of what they usually eat ... not that they eat much.”
What's the usual dietary fare? Brace yourself: Liebman buys frozen dead rats to feed his pets.
Liebman foresees his snakes living another 40 years.
“Longer than me. I can't ask the impossible.”