Let’s have a bit of levity today. My son and his wife were missionaries in the jungles of Irian Jaya, Indonesia, and this was supposed to be the dry season, but they’d had heavy rain for about a week. They wrote that a python had gotten one of the missionaries chickens, so my response to them was “how to catch a python—almost!”
“Dear Gulp-Gulp and Blub-Blub (in the dry season),
And who knows what your salutation will be in the rainy season! Well, I’ll think of something!
Which also reminds me of something else: H O W in the wide world do you go about disposing of a 9-1/2 foot python? I’ve cast about in my mind to give it some thought lest I be caught unawares at some future time when I might meet such a creature face to face. (it would HAVE to be face to face, since Mr. P’s. physical limitations would rule out a hand-to-hand encounter.) Now I’ve come up with several possibilities as a result of my cogitations: the first springs from my vast knowledge of bird lore. Perhaps if you carefully sneak up on Mr.. P. and sprinkle salt on his tail—(on second thought, who in his right mind would want to preserve ANY part of a python? I think I’ll discard that possibility.)
But perhaps the second idea has merit. How about the old elephant trap! You know—you dig a hole and carefully cover it over with twigs and leaves, and then when Mr. P. comes slithering blithely along sticking his tongue out at the world in general, he hits the leaf and twig patch and—kerplop!! Hole in one! Hey! I really think I’ve got something there! (No, not just a trapped python—A GOOD IDEA!)
Later: RATS! Flunked out again! I try to be practical about my ideas, so I have been mentally digging the hole and getting it ready. I got out my calculus textbook (slightly outdated to be sure, when I check the copyright) and figured that if I’m to catch a 9-1/2 footer, I should plan to dig it to a depth of about 10-1/2 feet, lest he hook his tongue over the edge, while standing on his tail (which is, of course, by now rather stiff from all that salt) and hoist himself over the top. Then I figure I should add about another foot for good measure since Mr. P. has grown at least that much since I began this project in the first place—and then I mentally looked up—and there hanging over the rim at the top was Mr. P. sticking his tongue out at ME! Besides that, this is the Irian Jaya “dry season” and I’m about to drown down here! Help! Somebody please throw me a mental rope!.
You know, they say “third time’s a charm”, so surely this one will do the trick. Remember reading about setting up a rabbit snare with a supple sapling and a rope noose? Now surely in all that lush jungle over there, you could find a sapling—or at least a first cousin once or twice removed—and a piece of rope couldn’t be too hard to come by. I’ll bet you’d hardly get it all rigged up nicely when Mr. P. would smell the bait you’ve put there—(Oh, I forgot to mention the picture of Bob Lenz’s chicken that you’d hang up—and as Mr. P. wiggles himself right through the loop to snatch the great prize—KER-WHANG!!!
(I just turned deathly pale as I contemplated the horrible possibility of whiplash injury that would be imminent in a situation like this.) PLEASE—write and tell me HOW they disposed of the 9-1/2 foot python—IN DETAIL—so I will be well-informed and able to cope with such problems…