Each year I share some true stories about Florida wildlife and the human encroachment of their domains. The following events occurred between March and September of 2026.
The Palmetto Orientation
A couple who moved from Philadelphia to Palmetto, Florida discovered an eight-foot alligator beneath their golf cart. According to FOX 13, Florida transplant Allan Hofmann poked at the 300-pound beast with a pool noodle, hoping to encourage a hasty retreat.
Bad idea. Pool noodles are useful for floating in the pool or helping the grandchild learn to swim but not so much for herding Florida alligators.
The alligator responded by crawling out and confronting the man, issuing a ferocious hiss and gutty growl while whipping the air with its powerful tail. Sometimes an alligator’s prey, mercifully, faints before the animal can clamp down on a limb. Against an alligator, a pool noodle is just a colorful way to point out which arm you would like to lose.
Mr. Hofmann soon decided this was his unofficial Florida orientation and called 911.
Trappers eventually removed the reptile. Neighbors supplied the traditional greeting: “Welcome to Florida.”
I’m a Florida native, and I sometimes worry newcomers think we arrange these encounters. We don’t. There’s no welcome committee assigning gator adventures to snowbirds and transplants. It’s much simpler. Some people get a coupon for pizza in the mail. Others get a prehistoric reptile that enjoys pools and shading under parked vehicles.
The Dade City Emu
The state has been busy lately. In Dade City, police chased a loose emu through town. Officers, apparently accustomed to Florida’s ever-changing wildlife, caught it without injury to the chasee or the police officers. Authorities did not know where it came from or who owned it. This presents a problem for anyone hoping to return the bird: “Does this enormous running creature belong to you?” is a question that may produce more yeses than expected in Florida.
At least a dozen readers will probably ponder whether the emu was LiMu Emu, the talented emu featured in Liberty Mutual commercials. Trust me, it was not.
Apple Fritter or Sea Pork
Meanwhile, a beachgoer at Cherie Down Park on the Space Coast found a mysterious blob about the size of two footballs. Online observers compared it to an apple fritter and a whale’s brain, but marine experts identified it as “sea pork.” Sea pork are colonies of tiny animals called tunicates that filter seawater. It performs a useful job, even if it looks like something you’d ask a waiter to send back to the kitchen.
Who knew?
Somewhere in Florida a developer has probably already filed paperwork for Sea Pork Preserve, featuring luxury homes and a nature trail that ends at the sales office.
Gator Sidelines Gator’s Coach
Even UF publicity shoots require wildlife judgment. Earlier this year, University of Florida football coach Jon Sumrall posed with a live, seven-foot alligator. He had expected a little one. Instead, the gator that weighed about as much as his quarterback hissed and snapped, briefly sidelining the coach. There is a lesson here for anyone working in UF sports: When the mascot has 70 or 80 teeth and an offensive attitude, make sure you have a strong defense before approving the photo shoot.
None of these four stories need much embellishment. The briefly benched coach, an emu stomping down a boulevard in Dade City. A nauseous mound on the beach that turns out to be millions of helpful sea creatures. A man challenges alligator with pool noodle. Florida supplies the setup and leaves columnists fighting over punch lines.
Still, I think the Hofmanns handled their visitor about as well as newcomers could. They tried one deeply questionable thing, recognized the gator’s hiss as a firm rebuttal, and called people with know-how and the right equipment. That’s practically a Florida certification course for newcomers. Honestly, plenty of native Floridians have taken longer to accept that a wild animal doesn’t understand or respect residential property lines.
The Palmetto gator may have been confused, too. Imagine crawling out of a preserve, settling beneath a golf cart for some shade, and being poked by a bright foam tube. At least the Philadelphia couple responded clearly. Some neighborhood associations would have sent a letter and held three meetings before acting.
I’d like to see a Florida newcomer’s guide written by the animals. The alligator chapter would cover respecting one’s personal space. The emu chapter might show how a morning jog can get out of hand, and a sea pork representative might demand that humans not refer to its kind as apple fritter.
Until then, here is my own advice: Enjoy the sunshine. Respect wildlife by keeping an appropriate distance – and if you see something scaley, large and toothy under your golf cart, drop the pool noodle and call 911.
It’s Florida, they know what to do.