For Christmas, of 1969, my youngest brother, Paul, who was still in high school, surprised Gary, three years out of high school, with a boa constrictor. Ralph, as the boa was named, was a big hit in the family and as each of us got our courage up we came to enjoy handling him. All seemed to be going well except that we weren’t sure about the best way to feed a boa constrictor. The stages passed from curiosity to concern to desperate determination to solve the problem before the snake might turn hostile. It was then learned that boas would eat mice, so a white mouse was purchased at a pet store.
Since the snake’s cage was made of chicken wire, it would not have prevented the mouse’s escape. So the mouse was put into the bathtub with Ralph. The mouse ran all around Ralph and even nibbled at him every now and then, but the boa seemed totally disinterested.
As boredom set in, we onlookers left the scene one by one with the last person closing the door thinking that would keep Ralph in the bathroom. NOT! Sooner or later the bathroom door may have been left open, who knows? But it was discovered that the boa had disappeared and no one knew what to do with the mouse.
Days passed. I would go to bed wondering if I would wake up in the middle of the night with a boa curled up or stretched out beside me (or around me) to keep warm.
Weeks passed. We began to get used to the idea and stopped worrying about our safety-at least most of the time.
Five months later Mama spotted the head of a snake peering out over the insulation in the basement. She called for Gary to catch it and he hurried to oblige, reaching for it and then having second thoughts. “What if it isn’t Ralph?” he asked. Then betting on the odds, he reached up and pulled–inhale–YES! It WAS Ralph!–long exhale. And he pulled him the rest of the way out from the insulation and put him back into his cage. We could almost hear the neighbors’ sighs of relief as word got around that Ralph had been caught.
We learned a new technique for feeding the boa. Daddy took matters into his own hands, quite literally. With one hand wrapped around the snake’s neck (if snakes have necks) and pressing lightly on the snake’s jaws, he forced the rounded end of a “Sharpie” pen into its mouth to force it open. Then he pushed chicken hearts down the snake’s throat. Fortunately you don’t have to feed a boa every day.
I can’t say that Ralph lived a long happy life. But he certainly made his contribution to our heritage of memories.
© 2002, 2010 by Janice D. Green
I laughed and laughed at your story about the Boa Constrictor. I’d like to know how often you have to feed those snakes. This was really well written and quite humorous. Thanks for sharing it on your blog.
Joan, thanks for responding to my post. I believe they need to be fed about once every two weeks.
Janice