Don’t think for one second that I would attend a class called Sex, Lies, and Rattlesnakes and not report back.
The seminar was led by a spunky lady who let us know early on that her aim was to “educate and fascinate” (which, incidentally, is going to be the title of my next song). As an opener, she had people call out some common reasons why humans might be afraid of snakes.
Shifty eyes! Flicking tongue! Slithery! Venomous!
Of course, the whole time, I wanted to scream what I found to be the most obvious answer: LUCIFER. But I held my (non-forked) tongue.
The first thing I learned is that the dens that rattlesnakes hibernate in are called “winter hibernacula.” By default, this means that there will need to be a line in my rattlesnake song about Dracula.
Beyond that, the majority of the hour was spent learning about the sex lives of rattlesnakes. How they do it. While I heard words like “ovum,” “ripe,” and “gravid” tossed around, pictures of snakes doing the nasty were flashed up on the screen. Apparently, July and August are mating season in Colorado, so on my upcoming outdoor excursions, I plan to be on the lookout – now that I know what to shield my eyes from.
Male rattlesnakes are drawn to the females by scent. Research shows that males that follow a straight line trajectory, rather than slithering all over kingdom come looking for something better, are more likely to find themselves a pretty, nice-smelling, kickass she-snake. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure this translates to human English.
The mating lasts anywhere from 1.5 to 12 hours. Eventually the female becomes restless and drags the male around until separation occurs. That is straight from the PowerPoint, my friends – and the reason my song will end with the line, “Ovulate, copulate, now separate – I’M SERIOUS.”