I love my home state. I really do. Where else can you see stories about an alligator knocking on your door?
And another alligator knocking on a different door a week later? (Still better than an uninvited preachy person, just sayin’.)
And an alligator kicking a python’s ass at a golf course. (That’ll teach him to try to move his ball in the rough without adding strokes…)
Or maybe it was the alligator’s revenge for his cousin from when a python ate it…
So why do we rescue them from storm drains? Because we are a compassionate state, if nothing else.
(Stop laughing.) Truth is, we’re kind of the Australia of America in terms of wildlife.
As a multi-generation native Floridian, I am far less scared of alligators than I am of out-of-state drivers. Or of the current GOP candidates for president that hail from our state. (Yeah, seriously, don’t vote for Bush or Rubio. Please.) At least the alligators are fairly predictable and easy to deal with. You just duct-tape their mouths shut and…
Hmm, that’d be a good cure for politicians, too, come to think of it…
One night many years ago my husband and I were taking a walk across
the golf course in our housing development. Blame it on the moon or summer breezes but we stopped to get friendly near a convenient tee. Everything is just lovely until I happen to open my eyes and glance over and there is an alligator less than 20 feet away staring back at me. Needless to say a new record for coitus interruptus may have occurred.
Ahhhh, Florida.