When my sister was around age one, and some twenty years later when my son was around age one, we had the experience of encountering an alligator. Well, actually, an alligator appeared for each of them, and I happened to be a witness. The first encounter was with a young gator about two to three feet long that was making its way through our yard in Louisiana after a hurricane. I was wheeling my sister in a wheelbarrow and came to a halt, uncertain whether this was a living alligator ahead of us or a big piece of pine bark. Then it snapped and it was alrighty, time to fetch an adult - no - first I must take the baby away from this amazing scary wild creature. The second event - when my son was a baby in a stroller - we were near the edge of a lake at Avery Island near New Iberia, Louisiana when we noted a huge grandaddy-sized gator's head above the water's surface some ten feet away. The alligator wasn't moving - maybe even was gracing us with his peaceful appearance - but we very promptly pulled the carriage away from the pond.
I think about it now, though, and wonder if these events were dangerous, or if perhaps fellow creatures just briefly let us see them, be aware of their presence, when we arrived in their space.
Maybe six years ago, I took a tour with a friend on Lake Martin near Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. We were in a small boat with an outboard motor. The guide would pause here and there, and among the many birds, fishes, snakes and insects we saw, there were several ancient gators who just floated in the water, peaceful as silent logs, only with resounding charisma. An egret was grooming his feathers, perched on an alligator's back. Another time at Lake Martin, I saw alligator babies about the size of a pencil in a shallow ditch-like area, with the mother not far away. None of these situations were threatening - they just called for respect for the animals' personal space. We were just visitors passing through their only home.
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