Speaking of snakes:
Once, many and long ago, my little sister -- who would have been 10 or 12 at the time -- spent a lot of time swimming at her best friend's house across the street. They had an in-ground pool with a concrete patio all around it, which, in our eyes made them "rich."
Well, this one day she came home with a story about how Mr. Harden -- a fearsome man who would come out at 5:30 each afternoon and bellow for his children (scattered about the neighborhood at play) to come in for supper -- had found what we used to call "garden snakes" on his patio. He cornered it and picked it up by its tail, swung it around once and smacked its head down on the concrete before tossing it over the fence into the willies beyond the back yard.
At this point, my brother (16?, 17? at this point) pipes up with this completely deadpan expression on his face with:
"Oh, they love that!"
You should have heard my mother laugh.
It was a thing she would lose the ability to do in the fullness of time (another story; another time), but she laughed that day, boys and girls.
Yes she did!