About The Snake

I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor
And I don't like it at all!
Oh no! It's up to my toe!
Oh gee! It's up to my knee!
Oh fiddle! It's up to my middle!
Oh heck! It's up to my neck!
Oh dread! It's up to my ...

My son used to recite this Shel Silverstein rhyme when he was young, eyes wide, fascinated and terrified by the notion of being slowly consumed by a giant snake.

But it turns out that constrictors eat their prey head first.

We know this because we own one.

When he was eight years old my son adopted his first reptile - a corn snake named Simon with a gorgeous black and white checker board pattern on his stomach. Over the years the menagerie expanded to include a three-toed box turtle, a green anole, a blue-tongued skink and a collection of Madagascar hissing cockroaches, in addition to two dogs.

Ten years later, we are the experienced owners of a six-year old boa constrictor. When we got him, he was a beautiful juvenile snake with hourglass-shaped saddles alternating down his belly and back. When held, he would calmly coil around your forearm like an exotic piece of jewelry. At home I would often drape him about my waist or neck and watch with interest as he shifted position, his muscles rippling down the length of his body.

Of all the giant constrictors - snakes that kill by squeezing and suffocation, as opposed to a venomous bite – boas are the species most commonly kept as pets in the US. More than a million snakes have been imported into the US in the past thirty years, and two-thirds of them were boas, which tend to be smaller and more docile than other popular constrictors such as pythons and anacondas.

Our snake is now more than six feet long, and weighs about 30 pounds. Though still very tame, he’s incredibly strong. It’s generally understood among reptile enthusiasts that handling a snake more than five feet long is unsafe without assistance, so I carry him around a lot less now. And draping a constrictor around your neck or waist as I used to do - well, let’s just say that was one of my stupider ex-habits. When constrictors kill, they squeeze their prey around the neck until it suffocates, and then consume it, whole (and headfirst).

There have been no recorded incidents of a boa killing a human, although boas are considered capable of doing so. The deaths you’ve heard or read about – like the 2-year old in Florida who was killed by her mom’s boyfriend’s snake last summer, or the Bronx man whose snake attacked while he tried to feed him a live chicken – were all by pythons. And most snake accidents are the result of what herp geeks refer to as “stupid feeding errors,” i.e. human keepers doing something ignorant when feeding their reptile. Snakes have poor vision but a very fine-tuned sense of smell, so if they smell prey, they will strike at whatever they see moving. Years ago our boa would slam his snout against the side of his tank if I walked in front of it after introducing a rodent. I feared he was becoming aggressive, but actually he was just being a snake and I was just being an ignoramus.

As my son’s departure for college approaches, I had planned to donate our boa to a zoo or university. But I never imagined that my generous idea would be met with bemused smirks. In fact, there is a glut of unwanted exotic pets – most of them large reptiles – whose owners didn’t realize that herps can live more than thirty years in captivity. Some of the largest constrictors grow to thirteen feet and over one hundred pounds, requiring custom-made habitats, sizeable rodents for feeding and knowledgeable care. As a result, large snakes are increasingly abandoned by their keepers when they get big, and this has become a problem in places like Everglades National Park in Florida, where they are multiplying rapidly since they are non-native and have no natural predators.

Just as I had gotten okay with the idea of taking two dogs AND a snake with me when I bust out of Beantown next year, the US Geological Survey published a risk assessment of nine non-native constrictor species, including boa constrictors, and concluded that they pose a high risk to the ecosystem. The US Fish and Wildlife Service testified before Congress last month, requesting that the constrictors identified in the report be added to the Lacey Act, a federal law which identifies various species as injurious to people and the environment, and regulates their sale and transport. As I write, the Senate is considering Bill S373 – “The Python Ban” - which would prohibit importation and interstate movement of the nine species.

If the Senate passes the bill, I’ll need to get a PERMIT to move the boa that nobody wants to adopt.

Last summer a group of my film making colleagues cast our snake in a video they were making for a local contest. I took him to the set wrapped in a pillow case, in the midst of a late night downpour. He was very sedate, while my friends were intrigued but anxious. Then, after a few hours of shooting, as we unwound over a bottle of wine, the boa unraveled himself from my arms and rested his chin on the table in front of us. He was like the cool snake dude, hangin' out over cocktails after a long night’s work.

“I love your snake,” said one of my friends. “Look at him. He’s so low maintenance.”