Snakes

by prettybluebirds

The author has placed a warning on this post for language.

What is it with snakes? Why do they hide in the grass and scare the bejeezus out of decent folks like me? They give me the heebie-jeebies always popping up when one least expects it. I despise the loathsome things with every fiber of my being.

The slinky varmints know who likes them and who doesn't, too. When my husband and I went mushroom hunting, who do you think the snakes chased? You guessed it, me. When my son, Roy, threw a stick at a gigantic blue racer, did it go after him? Heck no, why go after my son when there was snake bait handy? I tried to explain to Roy that snakes always targeted me, so he shouldn't antagonize them, but he was laughing too hard to hear me.

Then, another time, I stepped on a blue racer while fixing a fence. I agree that the snake had reason to be pissed, but it didn't have to jump in my face. I screamed, threw the hammer at it, and ran for my life. That rotten reptile chased me all the way home. It stayed about six feet behind me and waited patiently while I climbed over a fence before resuming the pursuit. The despicable critter could have caught me any time, but it was having too much fun. Obviously, they have a sense of humor.

It's some consolation to know I'm not alone with this snake paranoia thingy. I hired a man named George to do some renovation work on one of our rentals, and when I checked to see how he was doing, I found him sitting outside the house in his truck.

I said, "What's the problem, George? Do you need something, or did you lose your key?"

"I ain't going in there until someone gets rid of that damn snake," George replied.

"What snake?" I asked. I couldn't repress a shudder as visions of my nemesis crossed my mind.

"There's a snake curled up in front of the door, and either it goes or I do," he said.

I was in a bit of a quandary; I didn't want to ask that snake to leave any more than George did, so I suggested we call George's grandson, Mike, the macho man, to rescue us from the loathsome serpent. Mike, who claimed he feared nothing.

In a short while, Mike the Invincible arrived, packing his pistol. After taunting George and me for being wussy and other remarks about older people, Mike swaggered around the house to take on the intruder.

We heard pop, pop, pop, three shots fired rapidly, then a lot of screaming. Next, Mike came running around the corner of the house with the serpent in hot pursuit. (As I pointed out earlier, blue racers are a bit touchy, and this one apparently didn't take well to being shot at.) Mike headed toward my barn, the irate snake close behind. Then we lost sight of him when he went behind the building. We heard more shots and screaming.

"At least Mike got that damned thing out of here," George said.

"What happens when he runs out of bullets?" I had to ask.

"That's Mike's problem," George, the loving grandfather, replied.

A few minutes later, Mike came back to the house. He looked like a man who had faced death and narrowly escaped.

"Did you kill the son-of-a-bitch?" George asked.

"No, but I gave it what for. That damned critter will think twice before it comes around here again," Mike puffed his chest out.

"So, what happened? Where's the snake?" I said.

"The last I saw, it disappeared in that tall grass behind the barn. It got tired of waiting for me to come down out of that apple tree. But not to worry, that damned snake was terrified; it won't be back."

I was willing to bet that said snake was laughing its butt, or tail, or whatever off. All that shooting and Mike never managed to hit it once.

Some folks actually like the disgusting things and keep them in their homes as pets. They drape the yukky snakes around their necks, allowing them to roam the premises like dogs or cats. I say, more power to them, but the very thought makes me quiver. Just imagine waking up with a snake in your bed. Gross. Please give me a warm, fuzzy cat or dog any day.

There were many snakes on the farm where I grew up, and my brothers loved to catch the nasty things and chase me, which had much to do with my aversion to snakes. Also, a humongous snake snuck into the shed, where I raised rabbits and ate the newborn babies. That time, I was furious and went after that intruder with intent to kill. It was a bad idea; the snake chased me out of the shed, and I ran screaming for Daddy.

I could write pages about my snake encounters, but I think you can see why I greatly hate the sneaky, slinky reptiles. And I think we should all remember that a snake caused Adam and Eve to get tossed out of Eden. Noah should have left them to drown instead of allowing them to be on his Ark, but I guess he had orders from higher up, so I can't blame him.

Personally, I think the world would be a much better place without snakes traumatizing people like me and eating pets. If I had my way and were much more prosperous, I would hire that St. Patrick fellow to drive all the snakes out of the United States as he did in Ireland.

Now I feel better.

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