SNAKES NOT TO BE FEARED, BUT CERTAINLY RESPECTED

MURPHY’S Law (GA 16/2) brought back a few memories.

I grew up with snakes — I’m not afraid of them, but I respect them. They were part of life where I lived — Snakey Lane ran along the edge of a swamp.

Snakes could be found under sheets of corrugated iron, in the bottle heap, and in the potato pit where spuds were stored after digging. Caution was always the keyword. My dad said if I was confronted by a snake, put something down on the ground and back off. One day, up Bunny Lane, hemmed in with blackberries, I met one. I put the billy down.

The snake was still staring at it when Dad arrived.

I had a play tent in the backyard and the cat would deposit dead baby snakes in there as gifts to me.

In the Otways I’ve seen a big black rear up on its tail in defiance; and I almost stepped on a sleepy one on a walking track.

They’ll usually nick off if they feel the vibrations of your steps. But I’m always alert in snake season, listening all the time ... because a rustle in the bushes is not very likely to be a wallaby in a taffeta petticoat. Melva Stott, Anglesea