I take my pet heron, Frank, fishing every morning.
Imma train the ospreys too. They fly over slowly like they want to snatch the frankfurter out of my hand.
We've learned that the natives (contractors) call our pond the Snakepit which we find fitting because that's what they call the part of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway where we met.
Legend has it (passed down by the kindly retiree who takes care of the subdivision's mailboxes) that during the home's renovation after Hurricane Sally, it was empty for years, and each contractor came out and found the place slithering with rattlesnakes and mocassins.
I've only ever seen one and it was a garter. My ubiquitous presence--especially outside in the garden and on the shore--surely deters them adequately, but don't step where I can't see and I've still only slipped in the water once, and jumped out faster than ran out of an aqueduct.
Ono Island, Alabama Piranha Fed by Country Music Performer from Nashville