Copperheads are a venomous snake that simply love the area around where we camp. One summer afternoon, I was walking down the steep trail to go the aforementioned river when I stepped on a copperhead.
I was wearing flip-flops at the time.
Imagine my chagrin as I felt the tail of the snake whip around my shoe and my bare foot. Imagine the snake’s utter and abject horror at being stepped on by a big primate. In one of my rare moments of stupidity, I did the worst thing I could do. Instead of remaining perfectly still, I danced backwards, narrowly avoiding the strike of the snake. For a moment, the snake and I traded glares across a span of about six feet. Slowly, carefully, I unholstered the pistol I was carrying (a trusty, police model .357 magnum). The snake remained transfixed as I leveled the pistol, pulled back the hammer, and shot him just behind the neck.
That’ll teach him to strike at me. PETA, eat your heart out.