If I were to visit your home, I would hardly slaughter your daughter because her presence was inconvenient, smother your brother because I thought he might prove aggressive, or murder your mother because I thought she might resemble some criminal I vaguely remembered seeing a photo of.
Snakes are very sensitive, even more sensitive to moods than dogs. If you are nervous, they get nervous; if you are calm, they don't get nervous. The mountains are the snakes' home. They were here long before us. It would be impolite to slaughter or murder them simply because they are there. I never play with snakes. I treat them with respect, but not fear.
Some people barely dare to move around the wilderness for fear of snakes (but they blithely cross busy city streets, a far more dangerous undertaking). My dogs crash around the underbrush with never a care. Certainly they have crossed paths with snakes, but they have never been bitten. This observation led me to understand that snakes do not lurk around waiting for something to bite. Rather, they will avoid biting when possible.
I probably have more experience with snakes than most people, and this is important to me, as I go barefoot the year round. There are plenty of snakes in Wulai; on my little plot of land I have encountered six species of poisonous snakes, and there are plenty more out in the jungle, where I meet them frequently. Three in as many days this week. But I treat them with the respect due neighbors, and we get along fine. I never leave the house at night without a light, to avoid stepping on them or startling them.
Case in point: last night I stepped outside to observe the weather. A few steps from the door my flashlight discovered a qimbahu龜殼花 pointed-scaled pit viper (protobothrops mucrosquamatus), a very poisonous viper which has a reputation for being very aggressive. Of course my immediate reaction was to race into the house for my camera, and on the way back out I picked up a long bamboo cane.
As I rushed forth to snap photos, silly sappy Tlahuy gleefully led the way ~~ and almost stepped right on the snake. That's impolite, so I hastily called him back. He was so flustered that he just stood there and wagged his tail guiltily, not being able to figure out what he had done to make me raise my voice. His feet were a palm's width from the snake’s head, and I can assure you, from experience, that when it wants to, the qimbahu moves so fast that you have to see it to believe it.
But it didn't want to. Finally I dragged Tlahuy away by the collar and took a few photos. Then I explained to the snake that the walkway wasn't a good place for it, especially if irascible Yumin came and started barking. I gently prodded it with the cane, and it slowly, with dignity intact, slithered off into the grass and into the night.














