My father was bitten by a Cottonmouth Moccasin while swimming in the San Jacinto River as a child. That began a lifelong campaign against snakes.
Dad was known to kill poisonous snakes by picking them up and popping them like a whip.
The first time I saw him do that, I was eight or nine years old. I don’t know what kind of snake it was, but I do know I was awestruck; I mean I was seriously impressed.
The last time I saw him do it, I was twenty. We were cleaning out weeds on the banks of the stock tank when he snatched up a big Cottonmouth, spun it around his head and snapped it like it was a bullwhip and he was Lash Larue or maybe Indiana Jones.
It literally popped the snake’s head right off – it flew about twenty feet before hitting the water.
I have never tried that, and am pretty sure that I never will. When that King Snake I talked about yesterday grabbed onto my shoelace, I thought about it, but I was trying to save the snake at the time. Besides, trying it with a harmless snake seemed kind of wimpy.
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