Chance

A few days have gone by since I first sighted "the snake". The weather has turned cold again, which means cold-blooded creatures head underground or under the breezeway for safety. I'm not sure where he went only that I haven't seen him.

Out of sight doesn't mean out of mind. To say that I'm obsessed is not accurate. What I am, instead, is more thoughtful. A friend called yesterday to tell me that if he had a bull snake living under his house he would bend over and kiss it. While I admit I am no longer scared out of my whits, I'm not exactly at the point of embrace, but getting there--slowly. He informed me that bull snakes, although not venomous, do kill other snakes that are venomous like the dreaded rattler. They also eat mice, gophers, and the sweet baby bunnies. I promised my friend that if given the chance I would refrain from killing the snake. I'm slowly accepting the notion that he may be an asset--a well-skilled, low maintenance security force. Admittedly, I have not seen a single bunny or gopher running around the back yard so he must be doing an effective job.

Since he is now a resident, I've decided that giving him a name might be the first step in forging this strange new relationship. But I stop there. I refuse to bake him a pie or send out a casserole like the Welcome Wagon ladies, who by the way, are still active in this corner of the world--in case you were wondering where they went.

At the end of a very thoughtful day, I settled on the name, Chance, since we have apparently taken a mutual risk to live with each other. He's taking a chance on me and I on him. I am slowly awakening to the realities of living on the prairie by looking for the opportunity rather than focusing on the problem.

All is well, and so it is.