As apex predators — and ferocious and snappy ones at that — alligators basically live their lives doing what they want and going where they please. Now and again they’ll get suspicious about doorbells or time-travel here from the Jurassic period, but mostly they do their own primal, intimidating thing. Most of them don’t even ask before eating your dog.
Yet as a former resident of a coastal island that was swarming with gators (and poisonous snakes, and enormous flying cockroaches, and enormous regular cockroaches — seriously who builds a town in a swamp?), I confess that I generally believed the arrival of an alligator to be a negative, something that indicated it was probably time to consider sprinting in the opposite direction, generally while flailing my arms and/or shrieking AIEEEEEEEEEE! (Incidentally, running away from them is pointless, it’s an urban — or swamp — myth and will only make you look ridiculous in the last few moments before you’re devoured by an alligator.)
But not..
