I ran across a few packaged syringes while cleaning the
other day. At first I was puzzled as to
why syringes would be lurking on my closet shelf. Then, a small twinge of pain
went through my heart as it dawned on me who they were for. They had been for Misty. I suddenly missed
her and wondered where she was and if she was finally well. She had possessed a sweetness and meekness
about her that I had grown to love as I helped nurse her through her many bouts
of illness. I guess it is true that you
come to love those whom you serve. My
son Jerry had loved Misty the minute he set eyes on her, whereas I was at first
very repulsed by her. In fact I probably
would still find her presence distasteful had she not become ill and had Jerry
not needed my help in caring for her.
As thirteen-year-old Jerry walked home from Haggard Middle School, he would usually stop in at a pet store that happened to be along the way. That is where he met and fell in love with Misty. I should explain that Misty (if she is still alive) is a five-and-a-half foot long Ball Python.
Jerry had already acquired two small Kenyan Sand Boas in
order to earn his Reptile Merit Badge for scouting. They were tiny snakes and only came up out of
the sand to eat, drink or if retrieved by Jerry when he fancied visiting with
them. I had opposed getting them. I
hated all reptiles and was convinced they would make us ill. Besides, there are so many other merit badges
to choose from. After much begging and
pleading on the part of Jerry and my husband, I finally acquiesced and before I
knew it a small aquarium filled with sand, housed two small snakes in one of
our upstairs bedrooms. Although I was uncomfortable with this, I tolerated it
(mostly because they were so invisible).
"So Jerry," I asked my son one day, “what do you
want for Christmas?" It was getting
late in the year and Jerry was one of the children who had yet to write his
official letter to Santa Clause.
"Misty," was his answer (he had already named the
object of his affection).
"No Jerry." I continued to press, "What is
something ELSE you would like?"
"I guess if I can't have Misty, he replied rather
dejectedly, “I don't want anything,"
We had several more conversations like this with me
suggesting items that would entice any other young teenage boy. I just could not understand how a son of mine
could love something that was cold blooded.
I could understand loving a dog or a cat. In fact, we already had a cat named Oreo, (which
Jerry hated). Needless to say, just
before Thanksgiving, I found myself in the pet store purchasing a large snake,
an enormous aquarium, and all the paraphernalia that goes with owning a
reptile.
I explained to the shop owner that the snake was a Christmas
gift but that it had to be that particular snake so I needed to purchase her to
make sure no one else did. The owner
agreed to house her for a month and just charge us for the food. I remember leaving the store that day,
receipt in hand, wondering “Is this really my life? Did I just purchase a snake?” The things a mother who loves a son will do even when her son is in love with a cold-blooded reptile.
The arrangement with the pet store seemed to be working out great. The only problem for me was that I found
myself dreading Christmas for the first time in my life. When my husband returned from the store where
he had gone to pick up the aquarium and bring it home to hide in our bedroom
closet, I became very nauseated. I
nearly had to leave my post in front of the door I was guarding to make sure
none of the children (especially Jerry) would see the aquarium and other
supplies. I was filled with dread for the
day when the aquarium’s intended occupant would arrive, and that day was
getting closer and closer.
Then, one afternoon when Jerry stopped in at the pet store
to check on her, Misty had gone missing.
She was often brought out of her cage and displayed on a hanging
decorative branch near the cash register in the store. Whoever closed the shop one night, forgot to
return Misty to her cage. The next morning
they discovered her gone. When Jerry and
his friend Parker arrived that afternoon, they began frantically searching the
store. “You won’t find her,” the owner
assured them. “Some little old lady bringing her poodle in for grooming will be
the one to discover her and she will not be happy about that. She will probably have a heart attack over it
and sue the store!”
Day after day, Jerry would stop in at the store and look for
his missing pet. Then about the time
school was to let out for the holiday, Jerry and Parker determined they would
find Misty if they had to tear the entire store apart. They prayed before beginning the search and
sure enough, their faith was rewarded.
On Christmas Eve, my husband picked up Misty and she was there to greet
one very happy young teenage boy the next morning.
Misty, who had been born in the wild and captured somewhere
in Africa, had developed a taste for gerbil.
As the store owners explained, she would eat nothing else. This was a big problem because shortly before
she joined our family, our last pet gerbil "Smoky" had expired. We had held a proper funeral for her and
buried her near her sister “Ashes” (who had ironically died of smoke inhalation
in a house fire a few years earlier). The Kenyan Sand Boas ate tiny, newborn mice
called “pinkies.” Since they had no fur,
they did not really resemble mice the sisters came to accept their diet
quickly. Misty’s choice of food was
another matter entirely.
“MURDERER,” yelled our daughter Kindra at her brother when
she found out what Jerry would be feeding his new pet. This conversation had
come up as the family was motoring to “Six Flags over Texas,” a theme park in
our area. Kindra (who, incidentally, had
not been the owner of our pair of gerbil pets), was inconsolable. All her sisters began to follow her
lead. Heart wrenching sobs were coming
from the interior of our van. It
appeared for a few chaotic minutes that our outing may need to be aborted. To calm the hysteria, my husband began to remind
the girls about the “food chain.” Gerbils,
which reproduce quickly and abundantly, were intended to be low on the food
chain. God made them to be food for
other animals. I don’t think Jerry’s
sisters ever liked it, and I don’t know if any of the four of them ever
witnessed the feeding process, but the girls did come to accept Misty despite
her singular appetite.
Misty’s long adventure outside her cage in the pet store had
taken its toll on her health. Snakes are
supposed to be kept in a cage heated to about 85 degrees. Misty had been loose for weeks inside a store
that was heated to around 72 degrees during the daytime and probably went down
into the 60s at night. We brought her
home thinking that the de-lousing she had had to undergo after she was found
was the extent of the damage control that needed to be done after her
unfortunate escape. After a few weeks in
our home, however, Misty suddenly began to refuse her food. When this happened
I had to return her rejects to the pet store. We could not leave the gerbil in
the cage until Misty regained her appetite.
The “food” would start gnawing on her, sometimes even drawing
blood.
One morning before he left for school Jerry informed me that
Misty had kept him awake much of the night because she was making a funny
noise. I came up to listen (even though
I rarely encountered the snake). It was
indeed a strange noise. It was somewhere
between a “hiss” and a “wheeze.” She
also had a pink underbelly and had gone through a difficult shed. Snakes
periodically loose the outer layer of their skin, for those not aware of this
process. If they do not shed all of
their skin, they have to be soaked to loosen the skin and then gently rubbed to
remove the remainder, repeating the process if necessary. Misty
was clearly not well. I made an
appointment with our veterinarian and we took Misty in to see him after Jerry
got out of school.
“Looks like Misty has
pneumonia,” diagnosed Dr. Blonien as he pulled out a vial of medicine and a
syringe. He explained that the snake
would need daily injections of antibiotic, and that Jerry needed to learn how
to give those to his pet. He instructed
Jerry on how to fill the syringe, how to avoid the spinal column, and how to
insert the needle in the tiny area between scales.
Jerry was unable to inject Misty without help. Up to this point I had never touched Misty (or any other
snake for that matter). Misty quickly got
wise as to what was about to happen to her and she would tense up her muscle
making it impossible to get the tiny needle to pierce the skin. I had to assist Jerry. One of us would pretend to be getting one
spot ready for an injection, while the other would zero in on a different area
and quickly insert the needle and push the plunger down. We did this daily for 10 days each time Misty
became ill.
We were hopeful that each bout of pneumonia would be Misty’s
last. She would do well for a while and
then inevitably she would start rejecting food and we would go through the
process of having to inject her with antibiotics all over again. I cannot remember how many years we did this,
but we eventually reached a point at which we decided Misty needed to go a home
where she could get full time care.
Jerry was getting busy with basketball practices daily, not to mention
summer camping and other activities. With
heavy hearts, we returned Misty to the pet store where we had purchased her.
Misty was instrumental in helping me overcome a big fear and aversion in my life. I will not claim that I am totally comfortable with snakes or reptiles, but because of her, I now have a deeper appreciation of one more type of God's creations. I was surprised to realize that cold blooded creatures do have personalities. I got to know the personalities of all of the snakes that eventually made their home with us. Misty was meek, mild and sweet.
I believe I missed Misty as much as Jerry. I often think of her and wonder how she is doing. So to whoever owns her now, I hope you will have been able to nurse her back to health. I hope you love her as much as we did. I hope you will play with Misty for me.
