Editor’s Note:
This article is a personal essay originally written by Aida Greenbury and first published in The Jakarta Post. It reflects the author’s personal experiences and opinions. Anyone considering keeping reptiles should ensure they comply with Indonesian wildlife regulations and obtain animals only through legal and ethical sources. Wild snakes should never be removed from their natural habitat.
Let’s say you want a pet. You head to the nearest pet shop, and what would you choose? Probably something cute, furry and cuddly. So what makes someone choose something completely different—like a lizard or, even more surprisingly, a snake?
For many people, the idea of keeping a long, slithering reptile in the living room is unsettling. Some would rather see snakes turned into decorations—or even handbags or boots—than imagine one curled up on the sofa.
“I finally figured out what you’ve been doing with your snakes. You’re using them for some weird intimate fantasy.”
His eyes darted accusingly toward her shocked face.
Anna, an 18-year-old Javanese high school student, couldn’t believe what she had just heard. She jumped to her feet in disbelief before finally ordering him to leave, accompanied by a colourful stream of Indonesian insults.
Where could her close classmate have come up with such an outrageous idea?
She had known him for almost a year and thought he understood her genuine affection for her pets. They were simply pets—nothing more.
Instead of dogs, cats, or those furry little rodents (which, as far as her snakes were concerned, were simply dinner), Anna kept reptiles.
She owned a young yellow-striped python and a large Burmese python that lived in secure wooden enclosures in her bedroom. The larger snake was already nearly three metres long. She also kept several venomous snakes, which remained safely locked in outdoor cages and were handled only when absolutely necessary.
Many people are still uncomfortable around snake owners. Some even view snakes as evil creatures. Anna’s experience perfectly illustrates how difficult it can be for people to understand someone who genuinely enjoys keeping reptiles.
Unlike dogs, her snakes never barked all night.
They didn’t steal food from the kitchen table.
And perhaps best of all, they certainly didn’t leave unpleasant surprises all over the house and garden.
Once a week came feeding time.
Anna visited a local bird market and bought half a dozen quail, carrying them home in a cardboard box. The large constrictors were fed first in a secure, locked room. Using long feeding tongs, she carefully presented each bird in front of the snake.
The snake’s tongue flickered.
Its attention focused instantly.
Then—with astonishing speed—it struck.
Within seconds the bird disappeared beneath tightly coiled muscles before being swallowed whole, head first. Watching the bulge slowly travel down the snake’s body was both fascinating and slightly unbelievable.
Sometimes I wonder whether life would be easier with a snake’s jaw and digestive system. Imagine swallowing an entire salami without slicing or chewing. Fast food would take on a whole new meaning!
Anna also knew never to handle snake food with her bare hands. Snakes rely heavily on scent rather than eyesight when locating prey. If your hands smell like dinner, there’s always the possibility of an accidental feeding strike.
Her largest snake received three quail each week. The remaining birds were fed to six medium-sized yellow-and-black snakes housed in outdoor enclosures.
Bath time was her favourite part.
Unlike many reptile keepers, Anna bathed her snakes once or twice a week. She filled an old bathtub behind the house with fresh water and gently lowered them in.
Watching them glide effortlessly through the water, occasionally lifting their heads above the surface, was surprisingly calming.
She insisted it was better than therapy.
Most evenings Anna even took her large python for a walk, wrapped comfortably around her shoulders or waist.
Living in a suburb of South Jakarta, a woman walking alone at night often attracted unwanted attention.
A single glance at the large snake usually ended those encounters immediately.
If you ever need an effective bodyguard, a three-metre python is surprisingly convincing.
One essential part of keeping large constrictors is secure housing.
Their enclosures must be spacious and exceptionally strong. Large snakes are incredibly powerful and can force their way through weak cages, damaged screens or poorly fitted windows.
Anna learned this lesson the hard way.
One day her young python disappeared.
The tiny gap between her bedroom window and its frame revealed what had happened.
The snake had escaped.
News travelled through the neighbourhood with astonishing speed. Her telephone rang constantly as anxious neighbours asked whether she had caught it yet. Parents worried about their children. Some people were convinced they would discover the python hiding in their toilet.
Then, one week later, the little escape artist calmly returned to Anna’s bedroom all by itself.
I’ve often wondered about that.
Do snakes recognise home?
Do they simply decide they’ve had enough adventure and return to familiar surroundings, much like a cat wandering back after a few days?
Unlike dogs and cats, however, snakes remain wild animals. Their instincts are still very much intact.
For that reason, wildlife belongs in the wild whenever possible. Today there is also much greater awareness of wildlife conservation, responsible reptile ownership and the protection of Indonesia’s native snake species than when this story was first written.
Even so, whenever I hear stories of snakes being killed out of fear or captured for the wildlife trade, I can’t help wondering whether some of those remarkable reptiles might actually be safer in the hands of experienced, knowledgeable keepers like Anna.
By Aida Greenbury
First published in the Jakarta Post.
