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Archive for July 29th, 2013

A wildlife weekend was had around here. While I love animals and respect nature, I prefer not to be in close proximity to some of those animals,such as snakes.

Late Friday night, 2 am to be exact, Randi, my little Yarn Rascal, was up and looking for trouble. Still half asleep, figuring he had to go outside, I put on his leash and out into the yard we went. He ate grass, he ran after moths, he walked into a giant spider’s huge nest where the spider fell on him and I, now wide awake, swiped it off.

“Go the bathroom,” I hissed and gave the leash what I thought was an authoritative tug. He chased more bugs through the grass instead. I picked him up, headed for the sliding glass doors of the kitchen and was just about to step through them when I noticed a strange black hose coming out from The Skipper’s grill. I hesitated, Randi started squirming like he was possessed, and I walked though the doors instead, slid them closed and went back to bed.

“There’s a strange hose coming out of your grill,” I said to The Sleeping Skipper. I got no response.

I eventually fell asleep after ruminating about the hose that shouldn’t be where it was. Admittedly I know nothing about grills, and it was this lack of knowledge that kept stopping me from getting up, going out and picking up that strange hose to check it out. Also, Randi had settled by this time and I certainly did not want to wake the sleeping dog.

Somewhere around 5 am I suddenly woke, sat up in bed and screamed “Snake!” The Skipper propelled himself from bed where he had been sleeping on his stomach to running around the bedroom trying to pull on his jeans all in one quick motion and at the age of 70 too. Randi didn’t know what happened so he ran and tried to hide under the pillows.

“It was a snake,” I said. Realizing my sleeping mind had figured it out. It wasn’t a hose at all. I got up and ran from the room into the kitchen. Sneaking up to the glass doors, not wanting to see but wanting to see, I looked and there was no hose where there was a “hose” earlier.

“What are you doing,” The Skipper asked.

I explained about the early outdoors experience. “You’ve got to get the snake out of wherever it is,” I said.

“It’s gone. It’s not around here anymore,” The Skipper said and went back to bed.

But I knew it wasn’t gone. It was somewhere close by and just by the way Fate works in my life, I knew I’d be the one to run into it.

Saturday was going to be finish crocheting the afghan day. Around 2:30 pm I went outside for I don’t know what reason, past some underbrush and froze. My toes curled under, my knees locked. I slowly turned my head and peered into the underbrush and there was the snake curled into a bizarre position. It was maybe 11 feet from where I saw it last. It had got caught up in some ancient deer netting the previous owner had put down many, many years before. With toes curled under (it hurts to walk that way) and knees locked, I used my hip joints to move myself as fast as I could back to the sliding glass doors and into the kitchen.

“Snake!” I screamed once I found my breath again. The Skipper came running up from downstairs. “Snake!” I said pointing out the glass doors. “It didn’t leave! Oh. My. God. Oh. It’s. A. Snakeeeeeeeeee!” At that, Randi stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen with the teal Berroco Twist Yarn hanging out of his mouth. The Skipper was calm. He used to keep snakes as pets when he was a kid.

The Skipper verified that the snake, a Black Racer, was caught up in the deer netting and that he would have to slowly cut the snake loose. “Go do whatever it is you were going to do and don’t watch.”

“You’re going to touch it? It’s gonna bite. Are you nuts? Oh, my God, it can’t stay there.”

“Go. Do something time consuming.”

Needless to say, I should never doubt The Skipper. He has a way with animals, be they domesticated or wild like coyotes, foxes, snakes, birds, fish, woodchucks, chipmunks, squirrels, turkeys, you name it. The next I peeked out the window, The Skipper had the snake laying calmly in his lap and was softly talking to it while gently cutting and removing all the netting it had embedded in its skin. The snake, head turned, chin resting on The Skipper’s thigh watched as the netting came off in bits and pieces. When he was done, The Skipper took the snake to the far corner of the property and released it back into the wild. He said that when he put the snake down, it turned it’s head and looked at him for a minute, and then it slithered off into the woods.

I am glad The Skipper was here to rescue the snake. I may not be fond of them, but they have a right to exist too. I prefer it not be close to me, but I also prefer not to see it die.

The afghan I had planned to work on, still needs to be worked on. Sunday was crickets, and I don’t mean the British game.

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