DSOTM x 8 - Dinner Bites Diner!

(Kids, DO NOT try this at home!)

We were still living in the Airbase dorms, my buddy, RobT from Sac’to, and I and we returned there after a very hectic Friday night's partying off base. It was probably round one of our friend's houses, one who usually hosted major keggers and beer blasts. Being single GI's, there wasn't much hope of us being allowed off-base accommodation.

My group of GI mates were bikers, would-be hippies and general all-round cut-ups, but good hearted, good spirited young "wing nuts" out for a good time. As is the way with the military, we were all from different corners of America, enlisted for whatever personal reasons we had. Mine, at the tender age of 18, was to escape the violently stagnant, uncivilised Compton, California. My alternative reason was to provide for the impending delivery of my teenage girlfriend's baby, but no matter. I was in Idaho. "Breathe"

After recovering - we seemed to do as much recovering as partying - from the previous night's festivities, I crashed until almost sunset on Saturday, then dashed to the only pet shop in the Idaho (hick) town at the other end of the ten mile "driveway" connecting it to the airbase, to purchase the smallest baby rat available for my bull snake, Attila's monthly feed. I got back to the dorms to find Rob watered and fed and ready for a lazy evening on base. I had to feed my snake so I wasn't planning much else either. Another friend, JohnC from Flawda, the tallest man (6'10") I'd ever stood next to came by and left us two happy tabs (Gold stars if I remember rightly). Good man, that John - he'd caught and given me my snake as well! "Brain Damage"

Airbase dorms, I suppose ALL dorms, are strange places full of the sounds and songs of disparate life melded and meshed into a muffled cacophony just nudging the senses, punctuated by jet aircraft touching-and-going. To this day, though all else could be ignored, I find I can never sleep to any Black Sabbath music. Indeed, this place it was that I first heard ANIMALS, had ANIMALS foist upon me by BobS from Memphis, again whilst in a drunken state, and had my own gut-twisting ePFany! So, being young and definitely foolish, we decided to listen to some Floyd, see the "stars" and watch Attila eat.

Down go the Gold stars and on goes DSOTM. The only PF recording in either of our meagre music collections, and that on 8-track stereo tape played on the portable abandoned by my previous roommate. Rob lounges and zones out on Floyd and I watch the strange serpentine dance of death as Attila recognises that something other than itself is locked in his case with him. "Any Colour You Like"

It can certainly seem a brutal death for a rodent, fed to a snake in a terrarium (herpetarium?) but since I detest vermin of all kinds (I'm NOT afraid of them, I just don't like them, okay!), except maybe rabbits...nah, hate 'em too...I felt my snake needed to eat to live as well and I wasn't being any more brutal than Mama Natura herself, so why not? Attila was a grey and mottled-black, 5-foot long, 2-inch thick, high desert constrictor forever trying to get out of his glass case, and hadn't eaten for weeks. From a regular observer's point of view, a pattern can be seen at each feeding. Gerbils are tricky though: they jump just at the moment of strike and continue doing so until they don't jump fast enough, that last time. "The Great Gig in The Sky"

Attila began his usual two or three lap circuit of the terrarium at the boundary - I suppose to get a bead on whatever his 'company' might be - and finished by coiling in the opposite corner of his prey. Often the furry beastie, oblivious to its peril, would clamber onto and over the snake, and sniff at its flicking forked tongue or nibble at its tail. Then the seemingly slow tensioning would occur, the snake flexing its muscles in preparation for a strike, the coup de gras, when just as often as not, the snake will miss its prey's head or not get a good enough grip and have to abandon its attempt and try again. This appeared to be one of those occasions whilst round and round and round goes Dark Side of the Moon; Track 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2... "Money"

I wondered, when I first put the young rat in with the snake, whether it was a bit big for Attila. His usual diet was mice or failing that, gerbils, but the only fare on offer that November was baby rats. More like a young adult, Attila’s dinner partner. The rat managed to wriggle free a couple times and the two would retire to their respective corners opposite one another. Now the rat redoubled its efforts at escape, trying desperately to reach the weighted lid. And on went Pink Floyd. "Us and Them"

It was some time before Attila became active again, but he went straight to the matter. Rob had gotten comfortable in the bottom bunk, reading one of my "Heavy Metal" (Adult Illustrated Fantasy) magazines as I sat on the edge facing the terrarium. Needless to say we were both fairly well off our heads, when Attila grabbed his prey just by the scruff, and instantly the terrible tableaux took a chilling turn. "Time"

Two ENORMOUS yellow rat teeth flashed as it turned its head, still firmly gripped behind by the snake, and buried them into one of the snakes 'reaction' coils. If Attila had grabbed the rat properly, jaws completely cover the rat's head, he would then coil its prey's body like lightning within its total grasp and slowly suffocate it. This isn't what happened, unfortunately. Attila immediately released the rat and I immediately began hammering Rob's leg with my elbow, shouting, "Get that monster outta there! It's eating my snake!" I was freaking out. The rat eventually let go of Attila and again they retired to opposite corners. This time, the rat was catatonic, head tucked under its belly, shivering. Hell, I would be too after such a narrow escape. "On The Run"

Attila didn’t seem all that interested in eating anymore. He remained coiled in the corner, safe to say in somewhat of a state of shock, unmoving. "Speak To Me"

Dark Side of the Moon, of course, played on and on. Late the next day, Rob retrieved the young rat – I wasn’t touching the brute - and gave it to a grateful JohnC, the tall one. His much larger, female bull snake which he’d also caught in the desert would make short work of it; waste not, want not. Hey, I told you I hate vermin. "Eclipse"

Floyd on!
Byron


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Just thought...you'd like to know.

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Count me in on the journey, don't expect me to stay.