A Close Encounter

He's dead and buried, it's over. It felt like I imagine a hostage situation would feel like. Not sure if someone is going to get hurt, or worse. Not sure how it will all end. Every one's keyed up full tilt, checking and double checking every step to ensure the best possible outcome. The best outcome for us, that is. But that means the perpetrator is going down because in this case he's not about to give himself up. Actually, he can't give himself up, he has no arms to raise, no flag to fly, he doesn't speak the language, and he's been trained to never back down. Too bad for him.

I think it was Monday night that I spoke with my cousin, Barb. One of the first things she asked was, "seen any snakes lately"? I said, "not lately, knock on wood". And I really did lean over and knock on the end table. Maybe I should knock on something else because the wood thing isn't working very well. And this morning Pat made an off-handed remarked that we'd escaped any real encounters this summer.

Well, we can now say we've had an encounter--a close encounter--thankfully not too close, but close enough.

And here is how the drama unfolded. I headed to town this afternoon to grocery shop and visit with a friend. Once home I brought two armfuls of groceries into the house. I made two trips back and forth to the car passing the grill that sits only five feet from the back door. The dogs eagerly greeted me and gave me the customary 30 seconds to put the cold food away before dancing around at the door for a chance to pee. In the summer when the snakes are active, I rarely let the girls out without a leash or tied to the fence. When they're tied they have only about 20 feet of rope so they are always visible from the kitchen window.

For the past several days I've been taking them out for numerous walks throughout the day and only letting them run off leash early in the morning when it's too cold for snakes.

I had them both in the attached breezeway snugging up their harnesses when I paused for a moment to glance out the storm window panning the yard and walkway. My eyes widen as I glimpsed the green scales, the size of my fingernails, the unmistakable trademark of the dreaded snake. My heart pounded, my mind raced, the dogs squirmed to get outside and pee. Oh crap, I'm not exactly trapped, there are two other doors, but I realized that I had walked within three feet or so of this creature four times and didn't know what kind of danger I was in.

I immediately pulled my phone from my pocket and called Pat while taking the girls out the side door in a hyper state of awareness, not unlike Barney Fife from The Andy Griffith Show.

Pat said he would leave work and see what he could do to get the snake out in the open so we could first determine if he was a rattler or a bull snake. As you recall, the bull snake is "the good snake", and we would persuasively encourage him to move on; however, if it turns out to be a rattlesnake, then... Well, then, we might have to flip a coin to see who's going to shoot him.

But first things first. As Pat approached the driveway he called to check in on the situation. I suggested he stop by the barn and pick up a piece of plywood to act as a shield. For sure this snake will strike if provoked whether it's a bull or a rattle. He brought the plywood, a ten foot pole (no joke!), and a shovel. Pat came into the house via the side door, gathered up his gun and shot, then headed out to formulate the plan of attack. I had everything I needed--the camera and clean underwear, and oh yeah, a safe place behind the glass of the storm door, which put me only five feet away from the sleeping serpent.

The plan was: Pat would poke the snake with the ten foot pole while crouched behind the plywood shield. Hopefully the snake would awaken and begin to move around to see what was pokin at 'em. Once he was out from under the grill, we, no wait, not we, Pat would pull the grill off the gravel it sits on and onto the grass (it's not really grass, but a combination of prairie grass, wildflowers, and weeds). Then the snake would have nowhere to hide. With nowhere to hide, Pat could encourage him via the ten foot pole to move away from the house and onto the yard where he could shoot him. I say he because Pat won the coin toss.

Basically it played out pretty much according to Pat's plan:

• Pat poked the snake


• The snake woke up and moved out from under the grill


• The snake assumed the striking position and rattled his tail a bit


• We both yelled, "it's a rattler"


• Then Pat poked him a little more


• The snake warned again with his rattle


• Then the snake got poked some more


• He tried to back himself into the corner of the house


• Pat pushed and pushed with the pole while crouched behind the shield


• The snake was pushed off the gravel and onto the yard


• He struck at the pole a few times


• Pat kept pushing him further away from the house


• Then shot him


• 6 times


• He kept moving


• Pat chopped off his head with a shovel


• He kept moving


• We left him alone for an hour


• He kept moving


• We left him another half hour


• Pat finally picked him up with a shovel


• Put him in a wheelbarrow


• His tail kept moving


• Pat dug a hole and buried him


• He's dead and buried, it's over

Be both feel bad about killing him. He was an old snake with many rattles. Truth is he was only doing what he does, only he did it too close to what we do. The poor old guy picked the wrong place to take a nap.

I can't help but wonder how many snakes pass by unnoticed. This guy would have passed by unnoticed too if I hadn't glanced out the door as I did. I suppose he could have stayed there all day enjoying his snooze as we passed by taking care of our business. And once the sun set and the temperature dropped he would awaken hungry and ready to move off in search of dinner. But that's not what happened this time. And so it is.