January 21, 2008
Originally published June 10, 2003
I just walked back into my trashy, unwashed kitchen to get myself another glass of wine. As I passed by the elegant, although plastic, imitation French doors leading out to my luxurious 8' X 8' concrete patio, I glanced outside and saw something that didn't look right. I took two more steps toward the wine box and stopped dead in my tracks.
Do you ever have those moments? You know, when your mind takes in a rapidly-changing scene and ONE detail jumps right to the front of your brain and screams, "THIS AIN'T RIGHT!" That happened to me today. Something on my patio didn't belong there.
I retraced my steps and and saw it. It was...
GODDAM RATTLESNAKE! BIG, COLD-BLOODED, SCALE-COVERED, UGLY-ASSED, FANG-EQUIPPED, SERPENT-EYED, VENOM-CARRYING, BELLY-CRAWLING, NASTY, NASTY NASTY!
I went to the bedroom and picked up my shotgun, checked to see that it was loaded and started out the FRONT DOOR, because I was gonna sneak up on that bastard from behind. Then, I thought about it. If I shoot that sunbathing shitass where he is, I'll damage my patio and probably blow half the windows out of my artificial French doors from the ricochets off the concrete. That plan wouldn't work.
I went to the garage and got my golf ball retriever out of my bag. I extended that sumbitch to maximum length, opened the garage door and launched my attack.
I went out the garage door and rounded the house. I crept on stealthy, bare feet, right through the goddam blackberry vines. (I'll be picking thorns out of my feet for a week now.) I had a fully-extended golf ball retriever in one hand and a shotgun in the other. If a neighbor had seen me, a 911 call would have been an immediate response to the Crazy Man in the neighborhood.
But I reached my point of attack and used the golf-ball retriever in an attempt to rake the snake off my patio. All I did was piss him off. The bastard coiled up and started striking at the end of the retriever, and he was singing with his rattles to beat the band. I interrupted his nap, and he didn't like that.
I had to step a little closer to get some more leverage (Acidman fears very little in this life. But he IS NOT COMFORTABLE around snakes.) I finally hooked him and tossed him out onto the ground. He tried to make for the woods, but I got close enough to his fleeing ass to blow his head off. I dug a hole and buried him deep in the back yard. I used the shovel to rake his disgusting ass into that hole, too. I don't touch snakes. He was about 4' long with six rattles and a button on his tail.
I'll probably have nightmares tonight. I HATE SNAKES.
But that's one that'll never bite Quinton.
All content © Rob Smith