Don't try this at home.

When I was but a wee child my parents took my brother and I to a cottage they'd rented. It was a nice little place: nothing extravagant, but it had a dock at lakeside, some cushy rooms and, most important for a kid of my age, lots of woods to run around in.

Almost immediately upon exiting the car for the first time I spied a slithering form disappear under a bush. I pointed it out to my father with a shriek of glee.

"Probably a garter snake," he replied. He soothed my mother's rising fears with a hushed "Don't worry, they're harmless, they're harmless."

Rather than being a responsible son and helping with unloading the car I instantly dashed after the snake, intent on capture. My ears were all but deaf to my mother's huffy demands that I help unpack.

Needless to say, I don't think I ever caught that particular snake. But I soon discovered that the season was ripe for all kinds of serpentine life, and within a few minutes of searching I'd found another, basking idly in a spot of sun peeking through the treetops.

I was careful. I figured, hey, snakes must have good ears. Right? So I tiptoed up on the snake, quiet as could be, and it was obvious that my attempt to play super spy had failed because the snake started to squirm away from me through the grass.

"Oh no you don't!" I cried as I dived forward, my hands ready to clutch.

And I caught that snake - boy, did I catch that snake.

Moments later with the snake safely imprisoned I trotted up to the cottage, pushed my way in through the screen door for the first time, and held aloft my scaly prize. "Look what I caught!"

My mother screamed.

The snake had attached itself to my pointer finger, its tiny fangs digging into my skin. Its body drooped limply in midair. For all I knew it had died attacking my digit. And at that point, what did I care? I'd caught a SNAKE!

My father rushed over in a panic, probably wondering if the snake's venom was turning me into a dopey fool not aware of his predicament. (It wasn't. Garter snakes aren't poisonous, thank god.) And, after some gentle coaxing, he managed to pry the snake off my finger and sent it on its merry way.

Only afterward, looking at my punctured finger with its four, tiny, crimson dots, did the situation register in my mind.

"Ow, a snake bit me."