When commitment means switching from keyboard to hook stick — and back.
Some days, you plan your schedule. Other days, snakes do it for you.
Today was one of those days.
It began with a call from a workers’ colony — a spectacled cobra had shown up uninvited and understandably caused a flutter. I wrapped up that rescue and was just about to return to my desk when another call came in. This time, it was from the security guard’s gate within the community I live in. Cobra number two, slightly larger, slightly sassier. Unfortunately, it regurgitated its breakfast during the release.
So, as a curse, I had to kinda skip my lunch. Because Cobra number three decided to grace the storage unit of a local factory. By now, I’d figured out this day wasn’t going to go by the book.
And just when I thought the hat trick was done, rescue number four arrived — a large one from a village nearby. Easily the biggest of the lot, like nature was doing its own version of ‘New level unlocked’.
Interestingly, the snakes just kept getting longer as the day got shorter.
Each rescue brought its own terrain, its own curious crowd, and its own version of urgency. And between these runs, I was also juggling calls, emails, and tasks from my actual day job. No, this isn’t a pitch for sainthood or a humblebrag about multitasking. It’s more a quiet nod to what commitment sometimes looks like — showing up when you could easily say, “Not today.”
Snake rescuing isn’t a profession for me. But it’s a responsibility I’ve accepted, because someone has to stand between fear and understanding, between the scream and the safe release.
And truthfully, it isn’t easy — emotionally, physically, or logistically. But it’s worth it. Because every rescue is a small act of coexistence. A reminder that even in our concrete grids and glass buildings, nature still knocks. Sometimes with fangs.
Four Cobra rescues in a day is a first for me. Just to add, in between all of these, there was another rescue call of a possible rat snake, which we couldn’t spot.
Watch the videos. Each one tells a story – of panic, of patience, and of letting go.
