The Hole Under the Foundation

This morning I spent some time walking around the house, shovel in hand, back filling the ever growing number of bunny and gopher holes. Over the past few weeks the baby gophers' numbers have increased ten fold. At one point while filling holes around the fence posts I remembered the hole I'd spotted a few days ago up against the foundation of what used to be the back porch and is now part of the breezeway. Last spring a mother cottontail used that space for her litter of five bunnies. Ever since, I've repeatedly filled and refilled the opening to what must be a cavernous bunny and now gopher nursery. Ordinarily I would say, "aaahhhh, baby bunnies, how cute". But now I know better. Now I know that baby bunny or baby gopher means an easy buffet to a snake. Might as well hang a neon sign that reads, All You Can Eat.

And sure enough, as I headed across the lawn toward the back of the breezeway, movement caught my eye. THE STONES MOVED!

I jumped back, spun around on my now quivering heels, ran a few feet, stopped, then looked, from what seemed like a safe distance, in time to see the last part of the snake slither into the hole under the foundation. OMG, it's under the house!


The snake had been lying up against the foundation among the tan and grey stone blending-in just as nature intended. My question is: why do snakes need so much protection? Granted they don't run or fly, but they have camouflage skin, fangs, and poisonous venom, and a look that stops my heart...cold--isn't that overkill? All I have is a shovel and semi-clean underwear. Hardly seems fair.


Even though I have a gun, I can't very well shoot the thing while it's lying up against the house. I remember my sister-in-law warning me that bullets can ricochet off rocks, or the ground, or any object, and end up lodged in my skull instead (thanks, Pat). If I try to arouse it so that it moves away from the house, it will move back under the foundation. It might be primitive, but it's not stupid. As I understand it, they've been around a lot longer than man, and will probably remain long after we are gone. Isn't that reassuring?

I called my husband, Pat, to report the first sighting of the season, and to announce the official start of spring. Of course, he's out of town for a couple of days, so I'm on my own, essentially. It's me and a know-it-all teenager who wants to open the back door to get a better look at the reptile because he's convinced there are actually two snakes and wants to prove he's right. Now I've got to watch him, too, as well as manage to get the dogs out to pee occasionally.

My new game plan for the dogs is to take them on a walk several times a day rather than opening the door and letting them go take care of their business on their own. The driveway is about a half mile long, so we can walk back and forth for exercise, fresh air, and a bowel movement. After seeing the snake, the walk takes on more of a recon mission. I hold the leashes tightly and keep the girls from drifting into the tall grass growing along the edge of the drive.

Shortly after spotting the snake, Cali has to pee. Off we go, down the road, my hands still shaking. I'm scanning both sides of the road in a state of hyper vigilance. I stop, first my feet, then my heart, there's something round, grey and mound-shaped off in the grass inches from the road. My eyesight's not what it used to be, so on this day everything looks like a snake. This time it's a rock, but who knows, next time it could be a snake. Rocks look like snakes; snakes look like rocks. It's just not fair.