Let’s get one thing straight: not every snake “rescue” is a rescue.

Most times, what we call a rescue is really moving it from point A to point B. A snake shows up, a human panics, a call is made, and someone like me comes in to shift the ‘problem’ a few metres away. But here’s the question we rarely ask—who are we rescuing, really? The snake, minding its business? Or the human, reacting to fear?

In most cases, we aren’t rescuing snakes. We’re rescuing people from their own unease.

And that’s fine, sometimes. Fear is real. But if we’re going to use the word rescue, let’s reserve it for situations where the snake’s survival actually depends on intervention.

The last four rescues I’ve done—including my 300th—are exactly that. Not just symbolic acts of conservation. Not PR for coexistence. These were life-or-death situations. Here’s what I mean:

Rescue #300: The STP Snake

A full-grown cobra had fallen into a sewage treatment plant tank. If you’ve seen the inner chambers of one, you know it’s no place for a living creature, let alone a cobra. High walls, toxic air, nowhere to climb, and no natural prey. Leaving it there would’ve meant a slow, silent death.

It took strategy, teamwork, and precise handling to get it out safely. That was a rescue. No debate.

Rescue #301: Baby Cobra vs. Cat

A fellow resident noticed a commotion—a cat going after something. Turns out, it was a baby cobra. When we reached the spot, it was lying limp, and honestly, we feared the worst. No visible injuries, but snakes often internalize trauma in ways we can’t immediately detect.

It was alert and responsive after a while. We released it. Had the cat succeeded, that little cobra wouldn’t be here. That was a rescue.

Rescue #302: The Viper in a Tape Trap

This one was a surprise. A juvenile Russell’s Viper—the first of the season—was found with sticky tape wrapped around its upper body. Not something it could have wriggled out of.

Removing tape from a venomous snake isn’t a YouTube tutorial; it’s a balance of nerve, patience, and anatomical precision. But the tape came off, and so did the threat to its life. That was a rescue.

Rescue #303: The Glue Trap Miracle

A baby cobra, stuck head to tail on a glue mat—apparently not a rat trap, it was something stuck under a sink that fell off. When I first saw it, I nearly gave up.

But with Chayant, we pulled off the improbable. Two types of oil, slow detachment, soap bath to remove residue, and then a freshwater rinse before release. I don’t say this lightly: most wouldn’t have survived that. This was a rescue in the truest sense.

What We Must Learn

These four rescues—300 to 303—aren’t just milestones. They’re reminders. That the line between interference and intervention is thin, and that sometimes doing nothing is the better thing to do.

Snakes have lived around us long before we built our homes and laid our pipelines. They don’t come to threaten. They come because we’ve built over their paths. Most of the time, if you see one on your porch or garden wall, all it needs is a few minutes. It’ll move on. No drama needed.

So next time you spot a snake and feel the urge to call a rescuer, pause.

Ask yourself:

• Is the snake trapped or threatened?

• Is anyone in immediate danger?

• Can this situation resolve itself if we just back off a little?

Because a real rescue is not about moving the snake away from us.

It’s about ensuring it doesn’t die because of us.

And maybe one day, we’ll stop needing so many “rescues” altogether.