By Stephen, July 9, 2014 — Growing up in Wichita, Kansas, we did a lot of crawdad fishing. A three cent piece of liver on string, thrown in the water, and an Arkansas River crawdad would latch on and you pull him, throw him in a bucket and take them home. We would get a large bucket full and take them home and sell them to folks on the way back.
One day, while my little brother and I were at my uncles’ sitting on the bank fishing, my brother left for a minute or two. When he came back he yelled and I looked down. Next to me, unknown, a sidewinder had crawled up and coiled in the sun, as peaceful as could be (who was more afraid, I don’t know).
I dove in the water and we left. I begged my brother not to tell my dad or uncle because I was afraid I would get a whoopin for being so stupid. I don’t believe we ever met again. The snake, not my brother.