Wednesday night Greg had a football thing (scrimmage? camp? practice?) so the kids and I
ate ice cream for dinner and passed out after our sugar rush died off did our thing.
After I put them to bed, I popped in Lesson 1 of Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University (this? Is incredibly humbling. I am going to hate this process but in the end, I will be so glad that we took this step.) About 10 minutes into Dave’s lesson about saving for the future and laughing/crying because all of his anecdotes were completely true for us, the dogs started barking.
Not at a car or a jogger or even at the neighbor dog.
This bark was more . . . agitated.
The last time they were barking like that, they found a snapping turtle.
Obviously I’m the only one around to investigate so I throw on some pants & flip-flops (but no bra) and go out to check out the situation.
I walk over to where the dogs are so excited they are practically having a damn seizure, and look around.
I see nothing. I ask the dogs, “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” They stare at me.
I look around a bit more.
The dogs are still no help because they are still barking and jumping around but aren’t very clear as to what the source of their dilemma is (they were literally running all.over.the.damn.yard so I couldn’t tell what they were barking at.)
I give up because our dogs are pretty stupid and figure that they might have been barking at a leaf that blew past them.
I turn around and I see what they are barking at.
And not just any snake.
This bastard was every bit of 6 feet long.
I instantly transform into survival mode. I scour Greg’s pile of crap in the driveway and immediately find a giant chunk of concrete from a previous job. I start to pick it up but decide that a snake bite would be less painful than the hernia I was going to give myself if I lifted the concrete block any higher. Then my eyes settled on a 2×8 that was
standard length at least 6 feet long. I grabbed it and turned on the snake.
At first, I had the brilliant idea that I would just trap its head and push until I squeezed its head off.
I held the board in place for a good 5 minutes and, when I was convinced that I’d, at the very least, suffocated it, I moved the board.
Well. The snake was not dead. No where near it, even. He reared up at me and started to climb the garage door.
Obviously I would have to change my tactic.
I gently-ish scooted him back down to the ground.
I raised the board above my head.
I smacked that little sucker with all of my might.
Over and over.
I kept thwacking him until I heard a -pop-
Apparently I had hit him hard enough that I actually popped him open.
He laid there, bleeding & wriggling.
Did I feel mercy?
I kept whacking him until I was absolutely confident he was dead.
Then I ran inside, locked the door, immediately posted on Facebook and Twitter about my bravery and sent Greg a text to warn him that, “Yes there is a snake in the driveway but your brave and strong wife killed it for you. You are welcome. Bring me candy and flowers.”
The next morning, I was recounting my tale of bravery to the kids and of course they want to see the trophy of my kill.
I proudly walk them outside and realize . . .
I know for an absolute fact that my husband did not pick the snake up and move it.
I begin to panic thinking that it has morphed into a Medusa-like creature and that I’m going to have to kill it. Again.
Then I see something under my car.
It’s the snake.
Absolutely dead. (I was about 75% sure of it at that point.)
Turns out? It was a black snake and they are not dangerous and would have, had I let the poor creature survive, been an asset to my garden to keep out rodents.
Instead, I brutally murdered it and left it outside to slither off and die.
I’m thinking about changing my name to Draco Malfoy. I would do Beatrix but she was completely evil and I still believe there is hope for me. And Draco.
(If you don’t understand those last 3 sentences, please go read Harry Potter. All seven of them. I believe in being thorough and you can’t get a real sense for Draco’s character until the very end.)