Never swat a dead alligator on the butt with a paddle.

Okay, let's not fool ourselves here. If you're reading this blog, then you probably know me. If you know me, then you already KNOW how this is going to turn out.

But let's play it out here, shall we?

Years ago my wife and I were paddling a canoe through the Okefenokee Swamp in southern Georgia. We were vacationing with my parents and somehow we just ended up there, paddling through the swamp. Them in their canoe and us in ours.

Part of the way into the swamp we came across a dead alligator washed up on the bank. (Mean) people had thrown things at the poor emaciated carcass to determine if it was dead or alive.

It was deader than a doornail.

It apparently hadn't moved when (mean) people threw the trash. Its sides were all caved in. Look at the picture. Doesn't that alligator look dead to you?

It sure looked dead to me. Who knows what killed it, but it was dead, dead, dead.

On we went, deeper into the swamp. We paddled around for hours enjoying the swamp, as much as people raised in Cleveland, Ohio could enjoy the swamp. Spanish moss hanging from the trees. Tea colored water from the tannic acid. And a few alligators. Live ones. It's always a thrill to see dinosaurs and not be watching a movie.

So, the day was long and hot and it was time to return to the campsite. Best to get to the campsite before dark. There was a one-eye eleven foot alligator named Charlie Brown that lived in the lagoon by the campsite and we wanted to beach the canoes and get into the campers before dark.

The park ranger told us that alligators NEVER attack humans, but:

• We're from Cleveland and more doubting than the optimists from Missouri
• Charlie Brown had eaten the warden's dog a few weeks prior to our visit
• Charlie Brown had lost his eye while stealing fish from the boat of fishermen, who were still in the boat and one of them took Charlie's eye out with a paddle
  
• Charlie Brown was eleven feet long, lived in a rough neighborhood and had a record.
  

This was before the days of the Internet where now you can find pictures of people who have been eaten by alligators. I wonder where that park ranger is now?

Anyway, we paddle on back to the campsite and pass the dead alligator.

Here comes the part that you knew was coming, right?

I, being me, want to get a closer look at the dead alligator. Being in the stern of the canoe and therefore steering it, I start swinging over to the alligator. My wife starts yelling that there was no way she's getting that close to an alligator, dead or alive.

My wife holds a grudge.

During an earlier outing I spotted a (live) alligator on the bank and headed towards it, my wife eighteen feet in the lead in the bow of the canoe. Just as we got close to the bank the alligator runs into the water and SWIMS UP TO THE BOW OF THE CANOE. Looks us over and swims away UNDER THE CANOE.

As I say, my wife holds a grudge and would not let me explore the dead alligator going in bow first.

Fine.

Women.

We back up to the alligator so I can get a good look.

Dead.

Not breathing, not blinking. Nada. Lights out. Not only did the elevator not go all the way up to the top, but it was broken and not running. Nobody home.

I do what any guy would do under those circumstances. I whacked the dead alligator on the butt with my paddle.

I know! I know! I can hear you yelling from here. "Don, that's crazy! That's probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard!! You whacked an alligator on the butt with your paddle?!? Are you that stupid?? EVERYONE knows that alligators don't have butts!!"

I know. It was more the base of the tail than a butt. But(t) whatever. I whacked it.

Lo and behold ... I BROUGHT THE ALLIGATOR BACK TO LIFE!!!

A miracle!! Yes, it was a miracle I made it out alive.

The once dead alligator, now reborn, whirled around, opened its gigantic jaws and bellowed at me.

Have you seen the commercial where the guy is sitting in the chair in front of the speakers and the speakers are so loud that they are blowing the guys hair straight back? Well, it was a lot like that except my speaker had bad breath. I'm sure my eyes were as big as saucers by then. Looking past the thousands of teeth I was pretty sure I could detect the flames of Hell flickering deep down that alligator's throat.

Survival instinct kicks in and my wife, who is eighteen feet ahead of me (in many ways), and I start paddling. And I mean PADDLING. We look like a riverboat on crack. We leave a wake. If we were in a no wake zone we would have gotten a ticket. If we had a water skier behind us I would have cut the rope as alligator bait.

Remember now, my parents are with us in their own canoe. They, safely in the middle of the river, see our desperate situation and are laughing so hard they almost tip their own canoe over. Which I figure would have bought us more time.

Anyway, the alligator, for whatever reason, did not follow us, eat us and turn us into dinosaur poop. We obviously made it back to the camp site, in record time, and had a beer. Or two.

Whew.

So, tip of the day. Never swat a dead alligator on the butt with a paddle. Dead or alive they just don't have a sense of humor.