January 22, 2008
Originally published June 11, 2003
I went to my truck with the porch light on this morning. I never do that, but I wanted to see where I was going for a change. It was dark outside and I looked for snakes with every step.
I SAW snakes all day at work. WTF IS THAT!? Oh, a just a crooked stick on the ground. WTF IS THAT!? Oh, a piece of pump packing coiled in the weeds. Damn if they didn't look like snakes to me at first glance. I am fucked up from finding that rattler on the porch yesterday.
I don't do well around snakes. They trigger some kind of deep, primitive instinct buried in my medulla oblongata that says, "SNAKE!! KILL IT OR SELL THE HOUSE AND MOVE FAR AWAY!!!"
The only reason I went outside barefoot yesterday was to KILL THAT SUMBITCH BEFORE HE GOT AWAY! If I had farted around putting boots on and donning all sorts of combat gear only to approach my patio and find the snake GONE, I would never go out my back door again. I would never let Quinton play in those woods again. OR ever go out the back door.
So, I did what I did for a damn good reason. And I believe that I think calmly in a crisis, because the golf ball retriever was an excellent idea and worked like a charm to get the snake where I wanted it without ME ever having to come near it. I fucking HATE SNAKES, especially big, fat, ugly poisonous ones.
The shotgun did what it was supposed to do, too. (Yes, I DID drop the golf ball retriever before I shot.) I had .00 in it, and that's hell on a snake's head and a few inches of neck, too. He was moving, so I led him about 3" and ruined his entire day.
A dead rattlesnake stinks. I'm not saying that just because snakes freak me out. A dead rattlesnake really does STINK, like rotting garbage. They may be polite snakes, because they'll let you know where they are before they bite you, unlike copperheads and cottonmouths, but they suck just the same. I've got no use for ANY of them.
I've seen something resembling a snake everywhere I looked today. I am getting a severe case of the creeps. I keep checking my patio every 15 minutes, looking for snakes.
Bejus. I may never recover from this trauma.
All content © Rob Smith