These Things Bite

Bamboo ratsnakes (Oreocryptophis spp.) have been a favourite of mine for a long time. Bright red with bold black markings running the length of the body, they're among the most striking snakes you'll ever come across. They have flattened, shovel-like heads, endless confidence and an attitude that rivals a honey badger with a hangover.

These things bite.

A lot.

A friend of mine came to me a couple of years ago and – bless him – offered me first refusal on his underage trio of future breeders. They were around 18 months old, unrelated and, in typical bamboo ratsnake fashion, absolutely stunning.

I jumped at the chance.

On paper, this was going to be a small breeding project to see if I could establish a healthy, unrelated group. In reality, it became something quite different.

I say "breeding project", but it was really an observational study. There's very little published about these snakes beyond the standard care sheet, which is a perfectly good place to start. But I didn't just want to keep them alive. I wanted to get to know them. I wanted them to thrive.

And thrive they did.

They grew. A lot.

Rodent sizes increased, sheds became more frequent and, before long, they were beginning to resemble adult bamboo ratsnakes rather than brightly coloured youngsters. It's worth mentioning that this wasn't achieved through power feeding. I wasn't then—and still don't—feed them any more than their metabolism requires. Growth wasn't forced; it was simply the product of good husbandry.

The trio—now affectionately known as Larry, Kurly and Moe—also began interacting with one another in a much more familiar manner.

They're housed together in a 48" × 18" × 18" vivarium with a deep, burrow-holding substrate, more than a dozen hides, bamboo (obviously—the clue's in the name), a substantial water dish and plenty of opportunities to climb. Over time, that vivarium became more than an enclosure; it became their home.

And that's when things started getting interesting.

Much like observations I've made previously with royal pythons, corn snakes and bullsnakes, the bamboos began displaying what appeared to be a social aspect to their behaviour—something that remains relatively unexplored.

Now, any good care sheet will tell you that bamboo ratsnakes aren't exactly a handling species. To that, I can wholeheartedly attest—and I've got the scars to prove it.

That doesn't mean I never handle them. They still need moving for feeding, routine maintenance, and everyone's favourite pastime: poo picking. It just means I handle them less frequently than many of my other snakes.

There's nothing quite like reaching into an enclosure to top up the water bowl and pulling your hand back out with an annoyed bamboo ratsnake firmly attached to it.

But anyway... I digress.

Despite the scars, the blood loss and the occasional tooth left embedded in my hand, I would never describe Larry, Curly or Moe as aggressive. Confusing defensive behaviour with aggression is one of the easiest mistakes a keeper can make. I’ve made it myself on more than one occasion.

They aren't out looking for blood. They have absolutely no interest in trying to eat something my size. What they are, however, is highly defensive and incredibly high-strung.

Every movement is investigated. To a bamboo ratsnake, anything that enters their world is immediately assessed: food or foe?

If it's food, the response is astonishingly fast. Strike, constrict and eat.

If it's perceived as a threat, you get the classic colubrid defensive strike. Except... the running away never happens.

Instead, the bamboo ratsnake hits... and then poses.

It waits.

It watches.

It seems almost to expect you to make the next move.

They are fearless. They seem permanently on alert. And they are always ready to go.

And this was exactly the behaviour I wanted to see.

I don't expect any of my reptiles, amphibians or invertebrates to be tame. I don't expect domestication. My goal as a keeper has never been to create animals that tolerate me. My goal is to understand their natural history and recreate enough of their wild environment that they feel able to express the behaviours evolution equipped them with.

They will never love me. In most cases, they probably won't even acknowledge my existence.

AND THAT IS FINE!

For many keepers, tameness becomes the benchmark of success.

How tame is my reptile?

Will it sit with me?

Does it enjoy being handled?

Does it recognise me?

I can't help feeling that we're asking the wrong questions.

Perhaps we should be asking:

What behaviours is the animal displaying?

Are those behaviours a good representation of the species in the wild?

Does the enclosure provide enough cover, enough opportunities to climb, burrow, hunt or simply avoid me altogether?

Personally, I'd rather my bamboo ratsnakes came at me swinging every single time I opened the vivarium than have some poor, broken animal sitting motionless beneath a single hide in an empty box.

What we can do for the animals entrusted to our care is infinitely more important than what those animals can do for us. Healthy animals don't always make convenient pets. Sometimes they make inconveniently wild ones.

Good husbandry shouldn't make an animal less wild. It should give it the confidence to behave exactly as a wild animal would.