Wet Foot/Wet Foot

American crocodiles: We just want freedom to go back home

Up the street, in the driveway of a house with an exposed front yard, a short, stocky male human carpenter with jeans, a white T-shirt, and a fuzzy mound of salt-and-pepper hair on his head was standing behind a white pickup truck hosing down a small scraper. He also denied knowledge of any crocodile or alligator incidents. However, he was aware of a recent python assault on a human's pet cat. "You don't see any kitty-cats around here!" he yelled, his voice morphing into a husky, demented laugh.

Meanwhile another voice — that of a Christian evangelist — blared from the radio speakers of the carpenter's parked truck. "Here's the pattern," the radio evangelist bellowed. "How God loves. He forgives sin. And it doesn't matter how bad the sin is."

But Hardwick, the SWAT commando, is not optimistic regarding prospects for Crocodylus acutus-Homo sapiens reconciliation in this conflicted swamp region. Can we all just get along? "I don't think so," he lamented.

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