The answer is one.
It takes one old man, telling me one time ’round the campfire, that he’s seen one rattlesnake in this godforsaken desert…
to make me think that any slightly twisted stick on the ground is a fucking snake.
On the plus side, I burned several extra calories on my 4.5 mile walk this morning, due to embarrassingly frequent leaps backward, spirited arm flailing, and random high-pitched squeaking.
Sheesus. The “I Thought I Saw A Snake” workout, coming soon to a fitness center near you.