The Snake Incident

After dropping off my two littlest ones at the elementary school this morning, I drove home, and opened the garage door. As it went up, I happened to see something out of the corner of my eye, on the side of the door before it finished going up. I stopped the van before pulling into the garage, and got out to investigate. With a shudder, I realized it was a snake. It was a long snake, too; although it wasn’t big around, it was probably between 3 ½ and 4 feet long. I opened the door inside of the garage and told #1 child to get me the phone. Unfortunately (or fortunately, from his point of view), my husband was gone to work already; it was just as well, since he doesn’t do snakes. (That’s not to say I’m fond of them or anything, but they don’t bother me quite as much as they do him.) Anyways, #1 child asked what was wrong, and I told her there was a snake in the garage. Then, #2 child, from somewhere else in the house, yells at me, “Mom! Close the door NOW!” I get the phone from #1, who comes out to look at it with me, while #2, who refuses to look at it, continues yelling from somewhere else inside the house. I tell her to be quiet, and, no, I am not going to close the door; I’m going to keep my eye on that thing until it ceases to exist.

I immediately call my dad’s house (Have I mentioned lately how grateful I am to have my dad and wicked step-mother (w.s.m.), as I lovingly refer to her, living just around the corner from me?) and my w.s.m. answers the phone. I ask to talk to my dad, and am told he’s in the shower. I repeat that I really need my dad right now. When she asks me what’s wrong, I appraise her of the situation. She promises to let him know right away. I hung up the phone, and saw one of my neighbors in our cul-de-sac pull in. I walked out and asked her if any of her kids had a pet snake, and she said no; I told her I was glad because it was going to die soon and I would feel really bad if I killed someone’s pet. She wanted to see it, so I showed her. She grew up in Texas, and has had plenty of snake encounters, so this didn’t freak her out. In the mean time, my dad has called me back, but since I’m speaking with the neighbor, my #2 child proceeds to answer the phone, and hysterically tells Papa he needs to come over NOW and kill the snake before it kills us. My dad, who quickly tires of listening to the hysterics, tells her to have me call him back when I’m done talking to my neighbor. And, my neighbor, bless her heart, said if my dad couldn’t help me out, she’d be happy to come and terminate the scary slithering snake's life for me. Aren’t neighbors the best?!?!

She went home and brought back a long wooden shovel handle and a separate spade, and then my dad and w.s.m. pulled into the driveway. At this point, #2 has decided that the only safe place for her is in on the kitchen counter, and so she proceeds to perch there and refuses to move until the beastie is dead. #1, meanwhile, rolls her eyes at her sister, and watches cautiously from a distance as the carnage begins. After retrieving a second shovel from my back yard, my dad decides first to use the wooden stick handle my neighbor brought over, and coax the thing out of the garage before decapitating it. It was a good idea, in theory, but the darn thing started coiling its body around the aluminum runners and through the little holes, making it impossible to dislodge. At this point, I realize my w.s.m. has brought her camera and is madly taking pictures like the paparazzi. I start laughing, loving that she remembered her camera for an event such as this. She also whips out her little Texas critters identification book, and starts trying to decide what kind of snake we’ve got on our hands here. It is decided all around that it’s a rat snake, and not venomous. For some reason, this provides little comfort.

Unable to coax the critter out of its tangled lair, my dad has moved on to bludgeoning the snake to death with the dull end of the stick, and the bloodbath begins. The vermin doesn’t particularly like being attacked by Dad the Stick Wielder, and hisses his anger vehemently. But, to no avail; after valiantly fighting to stay alive, he eventually gives up the ghost. I can hear #1 (who is still standing at the door inside the garage) saying “Eeeewwwwww” as she watches on. When it’s finally done twitching, #2, who now has to leave the house to go to school, sets a world speed record as she bolts to her grandma's car, refusing to look at the snake guts on her way, and hurls herself into the vehicle, slamming the door shut almost simultaneously. As my dad finally manages to get the dead reptile unwound from its perch, I hear #1 utter the words, “Well, at least I know what I’ll write about in my journal tonight.”

That made me laugh out loud.

My dad chased my w.s.m. with the snake for just a minute, as she took a few more pictures, then he dropped it on the driveway pavement. I got my barbecue tongs and put the thing in a plastic bag, tied it up, and tossed it in the garbage can, grateful that today is garbage day. I am so thankful for my dad, who has honorably earned the title Snake Killer, for coming to our rescue, and for my dear w.s.m. for her unfailing instincts to capture the moment with her camera for all of us to share. I have decided to leave the small smattering of snake blood on the wall of the garage, in memoriam of this exciting event, and for future generations of storytelling. My husband, of course, does not approve of this.

And, as soon as I can figure out how to upload the fabulous pictures, I'll post those, too.