True story: I was working on a farm in northern WA, transfering a barnful of hay bales onto a truck bed. It took a few days and a few trucks, but there were only two of us doing the work. On the first day I pulled a bale off revealing the head of a python as thick as my arm. Squeamish, I called the farmer. He dragged dragged the motherf***er out by the tail, all 16 to 18 feet of it (5-6m), out of the barn and into the bush. Whew! It probably fed on the wallabies that would sneak into the barn early at dawn to snack on the hay.

Next day, confident that the barn was rid of mortal danger, we continued to work with the same abandon as when we'd started. But before long, I pulled another bale off revealing the tail of the same motherfing snake in the motherfing barn. This time, emboldened by the farmer's initiative, I grabbed the tail but it wriggled free of my grasp and buried itself deeper in the stack of hay. With half the barn left to empty, we worked cautiously, aware that this crafty, slithery creature was surely set, waiting for one of us to drop our guard. We worked cautiously and methodically as not to let ourselves be surrounded by potential hiding spots.

I never saw that python again. It could be the one in the picture. Or it might not. All I know is that snakes can carry a grudge forever and that it knows my face.