much reptile

If you want to have an interactive pet who tolerates lots of handling (every day/other day/2 days), a reptile is not for you.

You shouldn’t force a reptile to be interactive. You shouldn’t pretend a reptile is acting the way you want it to (anthropomorphism is bad). 

If you aren’t comfortable with a more hands-off approach to keeping reptiles, then reptiles are not for you.

If you cannot appreciate a reptile for being a reptile, then it is not the pet for you.

That being said, there are interactive reptiles but many of them are high maintenance and/or have husbandry requirements that are difficult to achieve (especially if you want them to thrive).

You know what needs to be talked about more?

Fuckin dragon trainer Newt.

Newt working with the biggest dragons there are and giving them names like Harold, Tom and Sally.

Newt who becomes LEGENDARY among later dragon trainers. Using positive reinforcement, bonding with and getting to know them, having the healthiest and best trained dragons on the front and focusing on his scaly babies to try and forget what they’re being used for.

Even years later Charlie Weasley is telling stories about it like “no you don’t get it they say he slept in the dragon caves and the dragons LET HIM. He bonded with them in a way no one knows how to replicate!!”

A picture of Newt Scamander. With his hair cut short and his eyes shadowed and dark from lack of sleep, still grinning ear to ear with three massive dragons nearly bowling him over with affectionate headbutts.


Dragonmaster Newt

clockwork-mockingbird  asked:

Just rural area things: running over a snake den with a lawnmower and cursing while you flee from copperheads


When I was a wee thing of about 10, we went to visit m Ohio family  at their “campground”  which was really more of a trailer park surrounding a reptile, bug and angry swan-infested sump, but baby Gallus thought this was AWESOME.  Spent the whole trip catching frogs and turtles and a Wolf Spider the size of my palm which damn near gave Aunt Mickey a heart attack.  Sorry.

However, I had grown up in the relatively venomous snake-free cradle of the CA coast, so I had no natural aversion to reptiles, much less knowledge of what the eastern ones looked like.

So you can see how I thought that the dark gray and kind of dusty-looking snake coiled up perfectly still outside Mrs. Bolghet’s trailer was an unusually realistic-looking lawn ornament, and I leaned down to get a better look at the detailing.

Cousin Jay Jay remembers watching me “Do A Fuckin’ Ninja Flip” to Back The Fuck Up as the Cottonmouth, in a perfectly reasonable response to having some freaky-ass mammal in it’s face, lunged at me.  I remember thinking “huh, their mouths really are white’ as it rustled it’s ass back into the lake and I waited for my heart to start beating again.

Jay Jay, realizing that there were some gaps in my outdoor knowledge, spent the rest of the afternoon with me, marching about the woods and identifying various plants and bugs and SNAKES out of his Boy Scout handbook until he was reasonably satisfied that I wasn’t going to die in the woods, and cajoled the turtle-hunting secrets out of me.  

(The secret is to look for the tiny triangle-shapes their noses make when they poke out of the water, and you have to spot them a good 30 feet off or they’ll see you first and run off.  Then, you move extra slow.  Ever see a heron standing on one leg as it takes literally 10 minutes to put the other foot down?  like that.  once you’re close enough, lower hands to the SIDE of the turtle, so you’re going to have  a good grip it can’t kick out of, then grab it with your jedi-like reflexes and lift UP immediately.

Then you can carry the snapper back to the campsite and wake up your uncle by using the turtle to bite his beer can in half and make him scream like Fay Wray while you and your cousin howl like gibbons on nitrous oxide.

You will be grounded but it is totally worth it.)

for all my fellow ABO enthusiasts out there

An idea:

cold-blooded omegas. Not omegas that are ruthless, or looking to sate some innate, gruesome thirst for violence– I’m suddenly thinking of like film noir ABO or something sos–but quite literally omegas that cannot produce their own body heat

hear me out. now, omegas have a biological imperative to give in to manhandling. physical dependence upon their alpha, or the means provided by their alpha, reaches a peak; as their body starts to dip in temp, their ability to function declines in tandem. I’m not just talking slow, sleepy movements, attempts to clutch on foggy thought, grip on reality kitten-weak and lagging. I’m talking impairment of vision. Blindness. Eventual stasis, or even death. Like the real technical shit you hear about happening to animals, you know?

Omegas become super efficient, knocking down the overall energy use of their bodies down by some ninety percent of what betas, and especially alphas, use, perfect for bearing young. But in exchange, it’s now considered abusive to let your omega outside without a coat when it drops beneath fifty-five in the winter and fall. They need heated blankets; nesting behavior becomes a must.

Overwhelming physical contact with their alpha is necessary whenever possible. They’re already slender, but maybe they’ve even evolved to be a touch smaller, all the more perfect for being engulfed by big, warm arms and eaten up into laps. Alphas bulk up and grow taller to accommodate them, because they’re absolutely dependent on outside tactile means to even function.


cold-blooded omegas, man