I am giving you some valuable information here. Snakes are
my biggest fear. My second biggest fear is that upon discovering my biggest
fear, people will pounce on it and send me snakes in the mail, or put them in
my bed, or my car, or throw them in my face like David Bowie did to Jennifer
Connelly in Labyrinth.
So, the other day, when Norris was getting ready to go on a
short trip, we were talking about all the critters in our yard. Normally I like
all these critters. We have a bunch of toads (like, seriously, we have like 20
toads in our back yard—and that’s just the ones we can find. Toads freaking
love us.) and a couple tree frogs, and some praying mantises, and snails, and a
family of birds (dusky flycatchers—the babies all just flew away and I was very
sad) that nested in our patio light fixture, and for a few days we had a
raccoon living in one of our trees. We also have a couple of hawks (I mean two
hawks that are in a committed relationship. We know they care about each other
because they sit on the power line all day, debating whether they can actually
carry off our giant cat, Tybalt, if they work together) and a family of
cardinals, and a family of robins. We had a skink for a couple of years, but he
was murdered in a duel with Tybalt and deposited in our bedroom as tribute. We
promptly informed Tybalt that duels are not acceptable behavior in this
household, so he killed a bluejay and left the feathers in strategic places to
teach us a lesson—we never did find the body. Which just goes to show that cats
really are the dominant species in this world.
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| Our baby birds! |
Anyway, as I was saying, we are very grateful for the rich
ecosystem that is our backyard. It is a delightful way to get our daughter
engaged with nature, and she loves it all. But with all the rain we have been
getting, and with the knowledge that with rising water comes displaced snakes.
This makes me apprehensive. So I said to Norris, “What if there’s a snake
attack while you’re gone?” and he laughed at me. He said, “What, do you think
they are all just outside the fence, waiting for you to be left alone so they
can ambush the house?” And I replied, with as much dignity as anyone with a
completely irrational phobia can muster, “Yes, actually, that is exactly what I
think is going on. Usually you are my snake buffer. Remember that one time that
big black snake got into the garage and you came and warned me not to go out
there until you had relocated his lifeless form after heroically killing him to
protect your family?”
(I need to interrupt myself here to mention that my husband
and I are not really advocates of killing snakes. Especially Norris. We
normally believe in relocation because snakes aren’t evil killing machines,
they’re just super creepy and gross. But Norris thought this particular snake looked
like it might be venomous, and in a fit of paternal rage, killed the snake
before getting a good look at its eyes—the window to a snake’s venomous status.
He was very sorry about it after the fact.)
After this point, Norris abruptly stopped discussing snakes
with me and told me to just not go outside while he was gone.
Snake Watch continues. Please don’t send me snakes in the
mail.
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