Critter Keeper

Please allow me a short update on what’s going on.

Firstly, I’m of the opinion that there’s nothing seriously wrong with my shoulder. I hope I’m not premature in that assessment. I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday with my family doctor, and an ortho appointment toward the end of June, but I’m hopeful nothing of consequence will be found. I already have almost total range of motion back - the hot tub and pool work wonders - and today, I actually went to the beach itself, for the first time since we got here. I’m feeling very good, and I appreciate any and all prayers that have been offered on my behalf.

The bruised rib is another story. Man, that one hurts. From what I’ve read, they usually heal up in two to six weeks. And as painful as it is, I’m forcing myself to think that it’s coming along as well. As bad as it hurts at times, it somehow doesn’t seem to be hurting as bad. I hope I’m not just getting used to it.

Other than the residual pain from the fall, I’ve been having an amazing time, and despite my limited mobility earlier in the week, I have not shirked my culinary responsibilities in the kitchen. My family relies heavily on me for breakfast. Since I usually rise earlier than everyone else, and since I love cooking, it’s a pretty good fit. Pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, and I’ve done a couple of breakfast pizzas this week with hash brown crusts that vanished in no time. I also tried this new thing - sausage links wrapped in cinnamon rolls, - that turned out well each time I tried that.

My schedule is totally filled for June and July. If you were thinking of contacting me for an event during those months, apologies. I’ve got nowhere to put another event. Days that I had planned to take off now have medical appointments scheduled. I’m continually in awe. The days that I planned to take off before my accident were days when medical appointments were available this month. That would be pretty coincidental if you didn’t believe.

Yeah, the little Eastern glass lizard (pictured) is running away to join the Critter Keeper Circus. He’s coming home with me tomorrow. He likely won’t be attending many public programs initially, but he’s a great addition for a birthday party.

A plan is afoot to for me adopt another animal on Sunday. He’s spectacular, but he’ll need some acclimation. If things pan out, you’ll meet him before too long.

My wife and I, while we’ve had a great week with family, are excited about getting home. We know our dogs miss us, and we sure do miss them. I got much of the rest I needed, and I am so ready for programs to begin on Monday. I’m excited about the lineup of critters we’ll be showing, and I’m genuinely curious to see how the shoulder holds up.

I’m not too worried. Avery will help me out on Monday, at least!

As is our custom before a busy summer, this week our immediate family is at the beach. We got here on Saturday, arriving at a nice place with an adequate number of bedrooms, a kitchen that could have been larger, a game room, a golf cart, a salt water pool, and a whirlpool bath. Oh, and an inclined driveway apparently violently interrupted by the New Madrid Fault Line in the recent past, with K2 rising out of the subterranean depths.

I’ll risk my geographical credibility with a little hyperbole, but I trust you get the picture. I just feel I have a responsibility to inform everyone why, during my public shows beginning with Pickens County libraries next week, your friendly neighborhood Critter Keeper may not be performing at 100%.

My wife and I arrived at the house a little before four pm, shortly after our children and grandchildren arrived. After a quick tour of the house, I set about unloading the car.

I had brought a folding wheeled cart to carry in games and other smaller items, so as to avoid making unnecessary additional trips. As I checked the back seat, I heard a slight, unfamiliar, crunching sound coming from outside the rear hatch of the vehicle. It sounded suspiciously like an almost fully loaded folding cart - one that had just started a rather rapid descent down the aforementioned inclined driveway toward the street.

Despite my advanced age, I like to believe that I have reflexes like a cat. Unfortunately, my athletic prowess to go with said reflexes may have called it a day a couple of decades ago. As I ran down the driveway, I failed to clear Mount Kilimanjaro there in the driveway - assuming I even saw it - and I took my last additional unnecessary trip of the day.

Folks, at this point in the story, I would love to regale you with a highly detailed, creative slow-motion account of the next several seconds. But words fail me.

I did the most epic high-speed face plant - pardon the exaggeration; it was at moderate speed, because I’m old - onto broken concrete. So yeah, right side of my face. Among other places, as you’re soon to read about.

Ugh. I’m laying on this concrete, feeling like I just got punched in the face, but thinking through a slightly dazed state, “That could have been bad.”

I looked toward the cart, which was just now stopping partway in the street. That confirmed, for me at least, that I didn’t lose consciousness. I thought about calling for help, but I knew I wouldn’t be heard.

I brought myself to my feet, and began limping down to get the cart. My nose is bleeding, and now my Apple watch is trying to get my attention by telling me, “It looks like you’ve taken a hard fall.”

“I’m painfully aware,” I mutter, as the blood from my face begins falling onto the concrete. I need to shut that watch off because I don’t want it to call anybody, and I’m trying to press the right button while trying to stop the blood that is pouring out of my nose, avoiding (for now) dripping onto my clothes. I retrieve the cart, using my left hand, because now my right arm is not quite as useful as it was a few minutes ago.

With the cart now on level terrain, I make my way to the bathroom on the ground floor. I almost ran into Evelyne, my youngest granddaughter, as she was coming out of the house.

I don’t remember saying anything to Eve, nor her to me, such was my rush to get to the bathroom sink. I vaguely remember hearing her quick footfalls running up the wooden steps to the main level where the rest of the family was catching up.

Eve, who is typically non-plussed and matter-of-fact, gained everyone’s attention by announcing, “Grandad’s hurt,” followed by “There’s a LOT of blood.”

My wife and daughters found me desperately trying to stanch the blood flow while simultaneously trying to keep the bathroom from looking like an ID Channel crime scene. I could see I was failing on both counts. I was surprised to see in the mirror that there were no lacerations or serious scrapes on my face. Thankfully, I wasn’t wearing my eyeglasses. My nose was bigger than usual, and my rugged good looks were conspicuously more rugged. I finally got my left nostril plugged and was told to not worry about the bathroom.

I explained what had happened, and we found ourselves playing Twenty Questions, with queries like “What day is it?” and “Who’s the President?” Nobody let me ask questions.

When I was asked what hurt the worst, there was no question in my mind. My right shoulder was now very painful, with limited range of motion.

What you just read was a long method of telling you that less than an hour after arriving at the beach for a week-long stay, I was on my way to the Emergency Room.

As my wife was backing over El Capitan in the driveway, I asked her to stop. I got out, opening the passenger door with my left hand. I got a good look at all the blood on the coarse surface of the driveway, but I had found what I was looking for. It must have fallen off of me when I impacted the concrete. I reached down and picked it up.

It was my sense of humor. I never leave home without it.
………………..

The ER was not busy, and we were seen right away. X-rays of my shoulder were taken and revealed no sign of fractures or tears, and I was told that the pain in my shoulder was caused by arthritis and bursitis. “It happens to everyone when they get older.” I was too kind not to remark I was more persuaded that THIS inflammation in my joint and bursae was caused by a high dive off of Denali, and that age had nothing to do with it. Plus, I would probably need an MRI to detect any tears.

I’m pleased to report that everything above my eyebrows and below my knees remained unscathed. A black eye and bruised nose might be the first thing you noticed if you saw me right now. Scrapes and bruises abound on my hands, arms, and the ones on my knees have not been that impressive since I was seven years old.

My biggest original complaint was my shoulder, but it’s coming along already with mild exercises, cold packs, red light therapy, hot tub/whirlpool bath therapy, and prescribed antinflammatory medication. But beyond that, I also have a bruised rib. That bruise looks like I was hit by a rubber bullet, and boy, when I cough or sneeze or laugh or try to roll over in bed, it makes me regret any braggadocio I’ve ever uttered about a “high pain tolerance.”

Today, on Tuesday, I had an early morning appointment at an ortho clinic. We had considered canceling it, but thought it might be wise to keep it, to at least grease skids for any referrals after we get home. While my range of motion is better, and the pain level in the shoulder is much less, they were of the opinion that there “may” be a small tear in the rotator cuff. There’s not a lot that can be done for a bruised rib. I was given a wide elastic band that at the very least, it could be used to bind the red light pad to my body to treat the rib.

We had waited until the day after the ER visit - Sunday - to go pick up the prescribed meds after watching our church service on YouTube. While on our way back, our daughter called us to pick up some vinegar. Eve had been stung by a jellyfish. She was on a boogie board, and was stung on the face and shoulder.

Later, while I was talking with Eve, we determined that the species of jellyfish she was stung by was most likely a sea nettle, since her sting markings were actually gone less than a half hour after being stung. I taught her about nematocysts, and how jellyfish kill and eat their food, and how it’s just an accident; people get stung when we swim or bob into the tentacles. Then I felt the need to explain why vinegar (an acid) neutralizes some superficial envenomations, that have alkaline properties, which led me to talk about how important pH is. Once her eyes began to glass over, I paraphrased “Lonesome Dove’s” Captain Augustus McCrae by saying, “Listen. Some of the best education you’ll ever get is just listening to Grandad talk.”

Then, after today’s ortho visit, I was resting on the couch with a book, and Avery comes running in.

“Grandad! There’s a snake in the pool!”

I’m thinking it’s just a garter, water, or brown snake, but the dimensions Avery was describing was maybe 18 inches in length.

“It’s really shiny,” she said, “and it glimmers.”

I’m struggling to get up with my side hurting so, but I asked, “Are you sure it’s a snake?”

“Yes.”

We got to the pool, where my son-in-law was waiting with the pool net, and he held it out so I could see it.

I looked in the net, and immediately said, “Well, it’s not a snake.”

Avery gave me an annoyed look.

I reached into the net and pulled out a stunningly beautiful Eastern Glass Lizard.

I explained that while the glass lizard appears snakelike, it has eyelids, external ear openings, and inflexible jaws. I was proud of Avery for not exaggerating the lizard’s size. Plus, the tail was totally intact, having never been broken off and regenerated.

I’m still debating whether to bring the little guy home with me. I may release him. He’s currently residing in one of the metal tins we used for a seafood boil the night before.

So, that catches you up on my first few days of vacation. We’re just down here making memories with critters and good food and injuries and physical therapy.

God is good. Seriously.

Finally. I believe it has come together.

I’ve been pretty stoked as the summer approaches, as I have come up with several “enhancements” for my program. I’ve been practicing in classrooms and parties over the past few weeks, and since the latest enhancement arrived just a couple of days ago, it won’t undergo the audience test until Friday, during the last two programs before my summer schedule begins.

These “enhancements” are nothing more than some visual and audio gags, and of course, a couple of animals that are either new or haven’t been used in a couple of years.

I fed the snakes a few days ago, and I’m pleased to report that the small one-eyed python is eating more consistently, and has undergone a shed. After several unsuccessful attempts at feeding the viper boa, it finally ate as well.

Which brings me to why I acquired the viper boa in the first place. As I alluded in a previous post, the reason will be construed as controversial by some. Not a lot, but some.

I intend to discourage other people, especially youngsters, from handling dangerously venomous reptiles in an obviously unsafe manner. It’s called “free-handling,” and unfortunately, in some reptile circles, it seems to be controversial.

It may be because my social media timeline is crowded with a bunch of snake posts and videos, but I see it every single day. It’s with rattlesnakes, copperheads, water moccasins, cobras, king cobras, Gaboon vipers… people (usually young men) being videoed or photographed handling these snakes (as well as Gila monsters and beaded lizards) without restraining the animal in a way that would prevent a bite.

Why? I don’t know. I guess it’s cool. I imagine there’s an adrenaline rush. They might even believe that they “know” their animal, or that it “trusts” them. It doesn’t make sense to me that one would literally risk their life for a few comments or “likes” on social media.

So I’m not going to tell adults not to do it. With some of these folks, you’re not going to change their minds anyway. But I will tell you why I don’t do it, and why I will discourage that type of handling, particularly in young, inexperienced handlers.

Every time a handler is bitten by an exotic venomous reptile, or if it escapes, it has a tendency to make the news, and it puts everyone in the hobby in a bad light. Legislators try to pass laws that affect everyone who keeps reptiles and other exotics. Insurance rates go up. My annual business insurance, despite having never have had an incident, DOUBLED from around $1,300 a year to over $2,800 last year, not-so coincidentally after the Liebowitz/taipan incident in Florence in 2024.

I have so much more respect for venomous snakes and their venoms than I did when I was younger. I’ve seen the effects of the bites. I don’t see anything “cool” about going into renal failure, losing most of your back teeth or half of your hand, or acquiring immense medical debt. Nope. Nothing cool about that at all, no matter how many “likes” you get. And that’s not even considering the suffering and worry that your family and loved ones will endure.

I hold the view that freehandling dangerously venomous animals is foolhardy and unwise, and it sets a poor example. Knowledge is knowing something; wisdom is applying that knowledge in the right way. If you know that an animal can hurt or kill you with a bite, then handling that animal in an unsafe manner is unwise. Sounds logical to me.

Beyond that, EVERYONE is an “influencer.” I had never considered myself as one, but if any of us interact with others, we have the capability to influence. Since my primary audiences are children, who are so often impressionable, I must take my potential as an influencer seriously. If I had a dollar for every time a parent has sent me a picture of one of their children pretending to do a Critter Keeper show after one of my programs, I could totally buy another viper boa. But I do worry that one day, a child or teen is going to watch a reel of someone with a rattlesnake or a copperhead and think to themselves, “That’s cool. I can do that.” And I worry about the potential consequences.

I’m not too worried about the influence cast by Timothy Treadwell and his overconfidence around bears. I’m not overly concerned about the influence of Siegfried and Roy and their overconfidence with their “pet” tigers. And I’m even grateful that Liebowitz survived the taipan bite, but I’m disappointed that he didn’t learn from his experience, because he’s back at it.

So, this summer, that’s where the viper boa comes in. It looks venomous, but it’s not, and you’ll know that by the way I’m handling it. Sure, there will be some implied peril, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I don’t need a venomous snake for a Critter Keeper program to be exciting.

Brutella, my Mexican beaded lizard, will help with that. I recently began using her again - she’s had a bit of a hiatus since the acquisition of the sailfin dragon - And she will be handled, but as always, she’ll be handled with caution, care, a hook, and most importantly, respect.

It’s my hope that I can continue to influence our youth to treat all animals similarly.

What is the capacity of a tortoise’s urinary bladder?

While I didn’t get a specific answer, my curiosity was satisfied.

“The bladder in tortoise anatomy is quite large and bifurcated when full. This enables it to hold considerable volume.

“Tortoises also have accessory urinary bladders which can store additional urine.”

That apparently equates to a remarkable amount of urine, of which the group of first graders were witnesses. They thought it was great.

Teachers immediately went into crisis mode, with one running to get a huge roll of paper towels, while another stayed back with the kids, shouting, “IT’S JUST P*E! EVERYBODY P*ES!!”

The tortoise, obviously, was, ah, er, relieved.

As for me, I had mixed emotions. Part of me was in utter amazement that a tortoise held THAT much water. Part of me was pleased that my tortoise was that well-hydrated.

And yet another part of me was doing self-talk, saying, “Not the best day to wear khaki pants.”

Folks, I have been the “Critter Keeper” for 19 years. I picked the name because I figured it would be easy for children, in particular, to relate to and remember.

I give kids some leeway in this, so I don’t get upset if they call me the “Critter Man,” the “Critter Guy,” or even the “Creature Teacher.” It’s enough for me to know they’ll be wowed by animals from all over the world, and how sometimes the animals just appear out of nowhere!

With that out of the way, I should make it clear that I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever, be known as, or answer to, the “Animal Fairy.”

I don’t care if you are only three years old.