Following a flood of the Mississippi some friends and I went out walking on previously-flooded island. We knew that the flood had washed up some critters that might possibly be unfriendly-like, so we were armed. Steve had a machete, Jim had a .45 revolver, and I don't remember what I had. These were to scare critters off, not to kill them.

So, I walk around a huge puddle left from the flood, following Jim, and see Steve, machete raised, to cut at a rattlesnake to his right. Just then Jim said, "Steve, don't move!" and raised the .45. Steve, of course, assumed that either he was going to be rattlesnake-bit or Jim was about to shoot him for dating his sister.

Neither. Jim shot between Steve's spread legs and a water moccasin about six feet long crawled into the puddle where Jim shot it again, this time with finality (we measured the thing, which is how I know how long it was). When the heavy bullet smacked into the mud Steve was standing on the rattler took off for parts unknown. Jim and I then assisted Steve in changing his pants, which had somehow become soiled in the back.