Ok. So maybe not.
But here's a cool (or scary if you are Sarah) story for ya...
So I grew up in what most people would consider the country -- 5 acres on a lake in rural Louisiana. We raised chickens all my life (for the eggs and the fun of it) and my parents still do. In our small Chicken Yard there is a small Chicken House - a little hut of a building where they go to roost (sleep). It has a flat roof so the leaves and pinestraw just pile up on top of it. Over the weekend my Dad was up on the roof raking all the leaves off and when he raked over a loose piece of tin, he was greeted by a coiled Chicken Snake. After nearly having a heart attack and falling off the roof (which he did later by the way....um...falling off that is...not a heart attack!) he beat it to death with the rake. It was 5 feet 8 inches long and as big around as a tennis ball for about 3 of those feet. Some biddies (baby chicks) had just hatched over Easter weekend and out of the 10 that hatched there are only 6 left - thanks to Mr. No Shoulders. Here's the proof:
If I had been at home, that snake would have been thoroughly dissected by now. But I'm weird like that.