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Redefining 'well-intended'

As a confirmed ophidiophobe, let me note that I am not a fan of a certain breed of Florida pet owner:

Juan Lopez reads meters with one eye and looks for snakes with the other. Lopez is a member of the "Python Patrol," a team of utility workers, wildlife officials, park rangers and police trying to keep Burmese pythons from gaining a foothold in the Florida Keys. Officials say the pythons -- which can grow to 20 feet long and eat large animals whole -- are being ditched by pet owners in the Florida Everglades, threatening the region's endangered species and its ecosystem....

An estimated 30,000 Burmese pythons live in [Everglades National Park]....Two 5-foot-long alligators were found in the stomachs of Burmese pythons that were caught and necropsied, officials say....

This nonvenomous species was brought into the United States from Southeast Asia. Everglades National Park spokeswoman Linda Friar says biologists believe that well-intended pet owners are to blame for their introduction into the Everglades.

I realize there's no active malice here, but "well-intended"? I'm sorry, but dumping your snake in someone else's back yard because you've noticed it's now large enough to eat your children doesn't really strike me as a problem of good intentions. Meanwhile, if we imagine all those snakes reaching maturity, we're talking about 600,000 feet--or about 113 miles--of carnivorous constrictor in the Everglades. I'd say more on the subject, but I should get cracking on my screenplay...

--Christopher Orr