And is trapped, fate unknown, thereby raising profound question: whose domain is it?
Yesterday on idyllic Pawley Island, in beautifully progressive South Carolina, a seven-foot alligator was seen casually riding waves, frolicking in the water’s balmy August warmth.
According to The Daily Mail, “Police officers who were called to the scene followed the amateur four-legged surfer for two hours as it unhurriedly made its way a mile up the shore.”
(Most likely) the gator took a few lefts on the inside sandbar, favoring his left hand approach in the small, glassy peelers. Then he took a look at a couple corners outside, made his way up the coast slowly, patiently waiting for sets.
Basically, enjoying a Monday afternoon bodywomp!
And fuck if South Carolinians aren’t harsh on outsiders picking off peaks! A pack of “professional gator trappers” (imagine! The life!) eventually got close enough to lasso it and drag it from the water. Like fucking coastal cowboys!
Now, alligators are for me perhaps the only animals scarier than sharks. Being from Florida, I’ve witnessed attacks from both. Sharks are quick, their attacks chaotic bursts from below. But alligators are monsters. They are scrappier, uglier, and just as fast on land as in the water. They can torque off an appendage with one dramatic twist.
But part of me thinks, That poor reptilian man-eater! Literally dragged from the water! The fucker commenced “about 20 Death Rolls” before trappers got a good handle on him, taped his trapped-door of a chomper shut, and dragged him away.
What do you think? Should the beast have been allowed to cruise the coast, sliding summer shorepound as he made his way north?
He was making his way north to watch his old ball coach, Steve spurriers Gamecocks.