SNAKE!!!

So, this evening after dinner at The Lovely’s, we head out the back door so as not to disturb the killer Chihuahua. I stroll through the garage, ahead of her, only to hear her gasp and say, “Oh, my gosh, there’s a snake!”

“What the ...” is all I can get out as I turn and see a thin snake winding its way along the wall of the garage.

“Get it!” she commands whilst standing safely on the steps.

“Uh, OK,” I reply as I contemplate just exactly what I am going to “get it” with. There are a couple of tennis court rollers leaning against the wall, but those things are a bit unwieldy: rather heavy, with a long handle and, at the other end, a sponge-covered roller about 3 feet wide. Then I spy a short mop and decide that just might do the trick.

I try to spur the snake along, back in the direction from whence it (apparently) came — but then it decides to crawl under the door to the laundry room.

“Don’t let it go into the laundry room!” The Lovely calls out from her perch (she is now standing half-in, half-out the back door of the house).

I open the laundry room door and manage to guide the snake back into the garage, and then I sort of chase it the length of the floor and out to the driveway.

The snake appears to be young, about 2 feet long at most, and thin. It is kind of splotchy, sort of two-toned, a mix of dark brownish gray and putty. It has a slightly triangular head, and every few seconds, it flicks its black tongue.

“Should I kill it?” I ask. “I really don’t want to kill it.”

[The first place I ever saw a snake, a tiny dark garter snake, was in the back yard of my neighbors, Mabel and Burl. I said, “Hey, there’s a snake over here!” Burl came out and chopped the snake into tiny pieces with his garden hoe. Seemed like overkill to me.]

“Nah, just take it into the neighbor’s back yard,” The Lovely says. “Unless it goes after you — then use the shovel on it if you have to.”

I get the snake to coil itself around the handle of the mop, and I carry it next door — a large back yard with tall weeds and plants and branches and leaves all over. A few seconds later, The Lovely makes her way out of the garage.

“Toss it over there!” she shouts from at least 40 feet away. “Just fling it!”

“I will,” I reply, “but I’d really like to get a picture of it. Get my camera!”

She scurries to my car, grabs the camera bag, takes out the camera and brings it to me, cautiously. “Hurry up!”

While still holding the mop with the snake at one end, I slip the camera strap over my head. “If this thing bites me ... will you make sure to get me to the hospital?” I ask.

“Sure. Just hurry!”

I try to get a good shot, to no avail. So I do the unthinkable and ask The Lovely to hold the mop while I try to take a picture — which she does, but not all that happily.

Unfortunately, the point-’n’-shoot feature on the camera won’t cooperate (fucker!). I hurriedly switch the camera to macro, but I am a little leery of getting too close to a snake which could be poisonous; hence, my photos end up totally crappy.

The Lovely tosses the snake — and mop! — into the yard and then bolts back to the house. I watch the snake for a few seconds — it has to sort of detangle itself from a heap before moving on — as I try to memorize what it looks like.

[Later, whilst researching snakes on the Internet, I come to the conclusion that it was very likely a copperhead. Quite poisonous, though usually not fatal. And I can’t help feeling disappointed that I didn’t get a good, clear picture.]

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