by Gillian Hick
‘Yeah, I know all dat, Doc,’ she called back over her shoulder as Eamon carefully ushered her down the big steps, ‘but de ye like ’im?’
I tried not to catch Gordon’s eye as the crowd surged through the open door.
Soon I was in the thick of it – clients pushing in from both doors – examining one patient while shouting medication doses to Gordon for the previous case. My stethoscope hung idly by, to be used only when absolutely necessary; no self-respecting stethoscope could even hope to pick up on any pathology over the constant roar of the evening traffic, mulled together with the wails and squawks and roars of the assorted assembly of animal life with which we were surrounded.
Nearing the end of the first hour, I felt we were making progress until I glanced out into the tiny waiting area and my eyes were drawn to the most ominous of all signs: a man with a pillowcase on his lap.
Over the next vomiting kitten and Jack Russell for suture removal, I tried to push the image of that pillowcase to the back of my mind, but as the terrier jumped happily off the table into the arms of her owner, there it was – the pillowcase – dumped unceremoniously in front of me.
The pretty pink floral borders did nothing to fool me. For as long as I could, I put off the moment, trying to judge from the thick bulk of the contents just how bad it could be.
‘A four-and-a-half-foot boa constrictor,’ declared the man proudly as I hesitatingly enquired.
A gasp of breath came from behind me as a young woman, clutching a scrawny kitten and desperately trying to grasp the hands of her assortment of toddlers, shot out the door and, with a resounding slam, we were on our own – myself, the man, and the four-and-a-half-foot boa constrictor.
‘Need a hand?’ enquired Eamon, poking a head in the door.
‘Emm, yeah. Sure. Come on in,’ I answered, feeling in need of some moral support if nothing else.
The man seemed oblivious to my discomfort. ‘A real beauty he is,’ he began, his hand delving in among the pink printed flowers.
The reptilian smell assailed me before I even saw the head darting out, inquisitively flicking its forked tongue, assessing the situation.
‘A real beauty,’ he repeated, offering the muscular trunk towards me as I involuntarily stepped back almost falling into the press behind me, the pointed head a little too close for comfort.
‘So, em, what exactly seems to be the problem, then?’ I enquired, hastily pulling on a rare pair of disposable gloves and reminding myself of the oath in which we swore to care for all creatures, slithery or not!
Oblivious to the still considerable crowd outside, Freddie enthusiastically launched into the tale of how a mate of his had bought this snake from a pet shop, despite the fact that his wife wasn’t keen on it. Apparently, one evening, the snake had escaped from its enclosure and while the non-reptile-fancying wife was taking a bath, she spied the tail-end of it coiled neatly behind the toilet bowl.
‘Well, jeepers, me mate said ye’d want te have heard the roars outa her. She wouldn’t have yer man in the house after that,’ he finished, nodding towards the mottled reptile winding its way up his arm.
‘Strange that,’ I murmured faintly, feeling deep sympathy for the unfortunate woman.
‘So, he’s just in for a check-up then?’ I implored hopefully, wondering if I could conceivably go through the motions of examining the creature without touching it, even through Latex-lined hands.
‘Well no, luv,’ he replied, dashing all hopes. ‘I’ve had the bugger for about two weeks now and ’e hasn’t eaten at all. I’ve offered ’im the best of grub – got a few live chicks an’ all – wouldn’t look at them.’
I shuddered, imagining myself as the luckless chick.
Frantically, I racked my brains wondering how often a four-and-a-half-foot boa constrictor should eat. Two weeks did seem a bit long, but not totally famine-length either.
From my vantage point, the creature’s scales did seem to be a bit dry and lifeless, but there was nothing lifeless about the rest of it as, with remarkable speed and agility, he slithered around Freddie’s body, coiling and wrapping as best he knew.
‘Well, maybe he’s taking a bit of time settling into his new environment?’ I began, buying myself a bit of time. ‘He does look a bit dehydrated and, with the stress of the move, he’s not shedding his coat properly,’ I continued, feeling a little more confident that this ordeal would come to an end soon. ‘What I would do is give him a bath in lukewarm water every second day to rehydrate him and syringe a bit of this into him after it,’ I replied, scribbling down the name of a reptile food supplement which would be available in the pet shop.
‘That should get him back on his feet,’ I concluded, missing the point that he didn’t have any, and now frantic to conclude the consultation.
Freddie seemed happy enough with that. ‘Right, luv. I’ll do that so and, sure, if he’s not eating I’ll bring ’im back to ye again.’
I mumbled something that was not quite confirmatory but was feeling that I had got away lightly. Thankfully, I pulled off the still-clean pair of gloves, but Freddie turned back towards me and as an afterthought added, ‘But are ye sure he ’asn’t gotta touch o’ mouth rot?’ he said, thrusting the serpentine head towards mine. For an instant our eyes locked in mutual distrust before I recovered enough to pull myself away.
‘Well, eh, I don’t really think so,’ I said cautiously as though X-ray specks were allowing me to examine the content of the mouth that was firmly latched shut.
‘Would ye like me te open ’is mouth for ye?’
Maybe it was finally beginning to dawn on Freddie that I wasn’t as enamoured of his ‘beauty’ as he was.
‘Yes, good idea, so,’ I blustered. ‘I wouldn’t like to frighten him.’
I studiously ignored Eamon’s amused raised eyebrow as, taking a deep breath, I managed to peer into the gaping, one hundred and eighty degree jaws that were presented to me. Feeling a bit like that poor chick in its final moments, I could see clearly enough that the mouth area was thankfully clear of infections that would require my intervention.
‘Perfect, perfect,’ I assured Freddie, hastily opening the door for the next client as he coiled his companion back into the floral print pillowcase.
Three or four clients had passed through before I could swallow without a gulp and the skin on the back of my neck stopped feeling quite so clammy.
‘Was tha’ a snake ye had in de bag?’ asked one enthusiastic young lad. ‘Deadly. Bleedin’ deadly!’ he said when I confirmed that it was.
‘Yeah … deadly,’ I agreed, shuddering again.
On the long drive home I kept getting a shivery feeling down my spine and I did have a quick peek around the interior of the car before I got in. That night, I kept the duvet well wrapped around me, making sure there were no cracks and when Molly woke for her usual bottle, instead of running across the hall in my bare feet, I put on a pair of heavy duty slippers … just in case.
The following Wednesday night came and went and although there was the usual assortment of life, there were no pink pillowcases. I breathed a sigh of relief when the last fluffy kitten had left.
I had all but forgotten my ordeal when, two weeks later, just as we were finishing up well beyond the allocated time as usual, Eamon called after me, ‘Hang on a sec, there’s someone after getting off that bus. Will we wait for them?’
‘Oh all right, so,’ I replied grudgingly, wondering who else would have arrived by the time we dealt with this one.
‘What is it?’ I called out the door, wondering what I needed to unpack.
Silence.
Eamon sounded sheepish when he came back in. ‘Are you sure you want to look at his one? We are well over time. We could always get him to come back next week or he could even go to Walkinstown tomorrow night. I’ll be on that clinic myself and I’m sure we could look after him there.’
I eyed him suspiciously – Eamon wasn’t usually prone to rambling, long night or not.
‘Sure, it’ll only take us a minute, Eamon. Call him in there.’
It struck me just before I saw it, this time not in a pink but in a yellow pillowcase, adorned with fluffy teddy bears. The beauty was back.
I flinched, as with a thump, the encased body hit the table.
‘No joy, luv. No joy at all,’ declared Freddie gloomily.
I couldn’t but agree with him.
‘We didn’t see you last week. I assumed all was well,’ I said with forced enthusiasm.
‘Nah, I tried to get over to ye but the bleedin’ bus was late and by the time I got here yiz were gone.’
‘Well, the clinic is only meant to be from seven to eight,’ pointed out Gordon, looking at his watch which showed that it was now looming dangerously close to nine. ‘You’re lucky that we’re still here at all – we should be sitting down in front of our fires by now.’
‘Ah thanks, lads,’ Freddie replied automatically. ‘It’s jus’ tha’ he hasn’t eaten at all since the last time and I’ve been doing me best, I have. Gave ’im a wash like yiz said.’
Despite myself, I felt sorry for the creature as Freddie pulled it out of the bag. The previously thick, muscular trunk looked gaunt and saggy and the skin was thickly scaled and dry. Even his movements were weak and listless, and he was apparently uninterested in his fate, as his head hung, barely level with the rest of his body. He was clearly a very sick snake and far beyond my feeble attempts at this stage. With a sense of relief, and knowing I was doing the right thing, I told Freddie that a referral to an exotics clinic was the only answer at this stage.
A long conversation ensued during which Freddie related his saga of how he had no means of transport to get across to the far side of the city and being on welfare he couldn’t afford to pay much, and sure, anyway, the missus was getting fed up with the snake in the sitting room. After almost two hours at the clinic, my powers of persuasion were at their lowest ebb and with a sense of doom, I could feel what was coming next.
By quarter past nine, Freddie was gone and only the teddy-bear pillowcase remained behind, complete with my new in-patient. Beauty or not, Freddie had baled out.
Much and all as I feared the beast, I couldn’t bring myself to put him to sleep. I wasn’t concerned about getting a home for him as there are lots of people who like this kind of pet; but getting him better was going to be more difficult, plus the more immediate problem of what to do with him tonight.
Gordon and Eamon didn’t even allow me to air my brainwave that perhaps one of them would like a new pet.
‘No, no,’ Gordon assured me. ‘What he needs now is a nice drive in the country. Nothing like a bit of fresh air to work up an appetite!’
The pair of them erupted into laughter at my desolate face.
I tried to bargain with myself, using all my logic. My phobia for snakes was ridiculous – pure childhood prejudice. Maybe this was my chance to break it. Maybe, in caring for this seriously ill animal, I would begin to bond with the species and get a better feel for them. Really, it was an excellent opportunity for me.
I wasn’t convinced, but there was no other option and anyway, I told myself, he’s so sick what harm can he do?
We got halfway home – as far as the canal – in relative tranquility, with Sidney, as I had christened him, hoping to make him seem friendlier, quietly coiled in his pillowcase on the passenger seat. The smell of reptile was growing, whether in my mind or in reality I’m not sure, so I opened the window to let in some Dublin fumes to overpower it. However, at the next bridge, it suddenly occurred to me that if he did escape he might make for the open crack, straight across my lap. Quickly, I closed the window again.
With one eye on the road and the other on the inert pillowcase, I drove on, trying to ignore the prickling sensation up the back of my neck. I was just crossing a busy intersection over the canal when, suddenly, I caught sight of the whole pillowcase rearing up and lurching towards me over the gear stick. In synchronicity with my body, the car swerved over the white line, amidst blasts of horns, while a cyclist skidded into the footpath. The edge of the pillowcase was touching my leg, and part of the dense body of the snake had fallen down between the seat and the gear stick. With a shaking hand, I managed to pick the pillowcase up by the very edge and flick it back onto the seat while trying to get the car back into the correct lane.
The feeling of claustrophobia was growing in intensity with every passing mile. At the next junction, while waiting for the lights to change, I heard the gentle hissing sound, almost like the air being let out of a tyre. Through the well-worn material, I could see the outline of his head, upright, obviously as unimpressed with me as I was with him. At this stage I decided, for the sake of my fellow road users as much as myself, that Sidney would be better off in the boot. With the hazard lights flashing, I gingerly picked up the bag, and trying to ignore the still considerable weight of four-and-a-half feet of emaciated constrictor, I placed him gently in the boot, wedged between my vet bag and Molly’s spare clothes bag, hoping she wouldn’t object to the invasion.
My relief was short-lived. Out onto the Donnybrook road and there it was again … I was sure, ever so faint, but surely that was the hissing noise again? With an indignant squeal, the car slammed to a halt and I jumped out, wondering how he had managed to escape. But when I checked the boot, there was no change. His dark silhouette was still where I had left it.
Back in car and this time I tried turning on the radio to drown out my over-active imagination. I flicked from my usual East Coast Radio until I hit the soothing notes of Lyric. I managed as far as Stillorgan before turning down the volume and listening: nothing. And again: still nothing. Was he just silent or had he escaped – and was he, right now, at this moment, making his way up over the back seat towards me …?
That’s it, I thought to myself. Enough of this! I got out to reclaim Sidney from the boot. Back he went to the passenger side, but this time onto the floor where he couldn’t move about as much.
We got as far as Cabinteely and in disbelief I stared at the long line of traffic ahead of me. At a quarter to ten at night, this could only mean one thing.
‘Oh, why tonight?’ I groaned. ‘Of all nights to have a police checkpoint.’ Mentally, I checked my tax and insurance and readjusted my safety belt.
‘Now, you just stay there and don’t move,’ I threatened the pillowcase.
With the car slowed in the bumper-to-bumper queue, the smell seemed to get worse. When it was finally my turn to roll down the window, I was sure the guard couldn’t miss the stench.
‘Good evening, Miss,’ drawled the guard with the tones of a man who was clearly not in a hurry.
Having caught up on the vital information of who I was and where I was going, he made his way in carefully measured steps to the windscreen and pointedly examined the discs, which were, thankfully, all in order. Just as he peered in the windscreen, Sidney, obviously getting bored with it all, started his antics again, tossing his head high within the constraint of his pillowcase as though trying to get back up on the seat.
‘Be quiet,’ I hissed at him, not knowing why as I didn’t think it was illegal to be carrying a snake around, but still, it was easier not to have to explain.
The guard frowned and with chest expanded and shoulders raised as though on the verge of making an important breakthrough, he came back to the driver’s window again and pushed his head in towards me.
‘May I ask who you were addressing, Miss?’ he asked in exaggerated monotones.
‘Who? Me? Oh, no one at all, Guard,’ I replied, my voice a bit high. ‘Just talking to myself, you know. Lonely drive on a late night, and all that.’
He peered at me through narrowed eyes and then casting his glance around the car, came across the pillowcase tied firmly in a knot on the floor.
‘And what have you got in the pillowcase?’
‘Oh, that?’ I said, voice rising again in forced gaiety. ‘Not much at all, Sir. Just a boa con
strictor.’
His head shot back out the window and he stood upright again.
‘Do you know, Miss, that it is an offence to hinder the work of a member of the Garda Siochána?’
‘Really? Gosh, no! I never knew that. Wouldn’t dream of it though, your honour. Would you like to have a look?’
With perfect timing, Sidney made another strike, this time as though trying to execute the perfect back flip. The bag flopped over and, with an audible thump, hit off the passenger door.
I looked up, waiting for the guard to reply but, with a loud bang on my roof, he beckoned me on, only pausing to add, ‘The left front tyre is a bit bald,’ as though I had committed a grievous felony.
I finally made it home in one piece and walked in the door to where Donal was peacefully watching a video.
‘What’s the pillowcase for?’ he enquired.
‘You won’t believe it. But there was nothing I could do. I really had no option.’
With a sense of accustomed bewilderment he took the bag from me and opened it up to take a look inside, not noticing I had backed up against the far wall.
‘Is it still alive?’ I tried to quell the hope that rose within me.
‘Oh it is,’ he said, quickly closing the bag as Sidney obviously decided to introduce himself.
It took a while to get my old vivarium down out of the attic. Despite my aversion to snakes, I quite like lizards and had kept a pair of Bearded Dragons for many years. Luckily, their vivarium was still intact and although the ultraviolet light needed a new plug, the heat pads were all in perfect working order. Although the vivarium came complete with a solid, fitted lid with appropriate air holes, I placed the Irish Times Atlas of the World and a few other hefty volumes on top, just to be sure.
There was nothing more to be done with Sidney at that hour of the night, so having given him a spray of lukewarm water to make sure the humidity was right, we headed wearily to bed.
It took a while before I fell into a fitful slumber, working out the list of names I would ring in the morning to organise a new home for Sidney as quickly as possible.