I've had Dobermanns for 37 years.
I'm pretty much immune to "ignorance" and can rattle off the "correct information" in my sleep, by now.
Hypothetical time:
Supposed TSHTF and we're all fighting for our very survival, someday.
Imagine that the big, brawny guy in your metaphorical/literal foxhole lets the enemy know exactly where you are because he jumped up and screamed like a little girl because some lousy little rat snake slithered over his foot.
Now that is depressing.
So many wusses, so little time.
[FWIW, I'm a 5' 3", 100 pound little runt and I'm not scared of snakes...WTH is wrong with people??]
With any luck, they'll beat this to death and inadvertantly come up with a cure or treatment for IBD.
[or they'll just run with it, willy-nilly, creating havoc and panic amongst the herd]
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A nice dry cleaning bag properly applied would fix that.
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