It had been a long day and I’d been gone for most of it. I don’t even remember what I was doing, I just know I was tired and hungry and wanted to sit down and put my feet up, preferably with a Scotch in one hand. But no, everyone wanted a piece of me. I’d already fended off the pack of dogs, but they were still clamoring for attention.
“Houston, we have a problem!” announced Butterfly, which seems to be her favorite saying.
“What might that be?”
“I haven’t been able to do a ‘send/receive’ all day!” she said. She’s not a happy camper when she can’t get her email.
Criminy! This meant that I was most likely going to have to tackle trouble-shooting the most redneck telecommunications solution ever implemented (next to the two tin cans with a string between them).
The repeater required to get the satellite signal from our house to her house resides in a mailbox atop my old tetherball pole. It’s been at least 40 years since I played tetherball.
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Redneck Telecommunications
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To access said repeater requires the trusty old orchard ladder. It’s been about 20 years since I lived where we had an orchard. We have a few fruit trees now, but the birds steal most everything that’s good. Dang birds.
I dragged my sorry butt off the couch and headed up the path to Butterfly’s house. There’s a tiny patch of lawn next to one section of winding path and there, stretched out in the sunshine, was a little rattler.
A LITTLE RATTLER???!!!!! It finally registered in my brain as I walked by and all the dogs trotted over and around it, totally oblivious.
“DOGS!” I yelled and they all stopped, froze, looked at me. Good dogs. I can never remember all their names when I’m in a hurry, so “DOGS!” works. I backed down the path, calling the dogs to me, and still none of them saw the snake. The snake stayed stretched out on the grass. It was a cool evening and I think he was looking for a place to warm up.
Once I got them out of harm’s way, I started yelling for Butterfly, who I could hear was plunking on her piano. No response.
“Mom! HELP! SNAKE!” I knew her doors and windows were open, so I could only hope she would hear me. I didn’t want to lose sight of the snake, and I didn’t want the dogs to tangle with it.
Electric Horseman heard me before she did and came limping up the hill to investigate. He was able to help me corral dogs and get them in the house. While he kept an eye on the sleepy snake, I retrieved a shovel and a garbage can. Finally Butterfly surfaced, with Carly, her dog in tow, to see what the fuss was about. She did an about-face when she heard “snake” to put her dog in her house. We’ve had way too many vet bills for snake-bitten dogs to take any chances.
Using the shovel, I attempted to push the snake away from the concrete sidewalk (so it couldn’t disappear underneath) so as to get it out into the middle of the lawn where I could “work” with it and get it into the trash can. I’m no “Annie Oakley” and I had on no gloves, so I was not about to grab this guy, no matter how small he was!
The little devil went right back under the sidewalk!
I waited a few minutes, and out he came, for a repeat of our previous encounter, including his hurried retreat back under the sidewalk.
This time I had a longer wait; he wasn’t so eager to come back out. So I turned on a hose and tried to flood him out. Snakes must not like water, right? That didn’t work at all.
“Look, little guy,” I told him, “you have got to come out of there! If you don’t come and cooperate, I’m afraid I’m going to have to chop off your head, and you know how I hate to do that!”
I could see him in a crevice right under the sidewalk. I could tell he was thinking about coming out, but he was not looking forward to encountering me. He stuck his head out a few times.
“I can see him, I just can’t get him with this shovel without hurting him,” I muttered.
Finally Electric Horseman had a brilliant idea.
“What about the grabber they gave me at the hospital?” he asked. “Would it work to reach under there and pull him out?”
“Excellent idea!” I said, “You stay here and don’t let him come out! Just stomp on the concrete or something! I’ll be right back.” Off I ran to get the grabber.
It proved to be just the tool I needed to get the little guy out from his hiding place without harming him. I plopped him into the trash can.
He was only about 18” long, but he was spitting mad and fit to be tied. He rattled his little tiny button as hard as he could, but it barely made any noise. Not matter, his bite can be just as nasty, just as deadly as a big snake’s. I wasn’t going to get close. Thank goodness for zoom lenses!
I put on my boots (no sense taking any chances on a snake bite while traipsing through the tall grass!), threw the trash can over my shoulder, and took the little guy on a nice long hike into the wilderness.
I let him loose near water with plenty of cover, wishing him good hunting.
He was pretty stressed by the whole ordeal, poor little guy. He didn’t go very far before he posed for a few photos. I think even the snake-haters among you have to admit that he’s very beautiful. Hopefully he’ll grow up to eat lots of rodents and steer clear of those cowboys with the shovels.
I felt good that he got to return to the wild, but not so good that I had to return to the mundane task of trouble-shooting Butterfly’s email troubles. At least her problems were better for my blood pressure.
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