Snakes Alive (2010 edition)

There’s (sort of) a new addition to our menagerie- the one that includes three cats, two dogs, I’ve just forgotten how many chickens, two fish, and one freshwater snail…

I’ve named our new addition Bob. I had decided, after numerous interactions, that he deserved a name. So Bob it was. And, now that he has a name, I feel somewhat protective toward him- which, for me, is rather unusual.

Bob is a snake. A really big snake.

(Above: one of Bob's cousins, from the UGA snake website)

Bob made his first appearance last summer, shortly after the rattlesnake incident. Having just recovered from that ordeal, I was sitting on the patio in the evening, and watched something slither toward the
grape arbor. It was dark brown, dingy, and fat. Water moccasins are dark brown, dingy and fat. But, after the rattlesnake incident and the resulting trauma that it caused, I was in denial. “That is NOT a water moccasin… that is NOT a water moccasin…” And then it slithered under the grape arbor and out of sight. My denial mechanism asserted that I hadn’t really seen a snake at all, much less a water moccasin. And so the incident was forgotten.
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“Be careful when you go in the garden… there’s a giant cottonmouth in the garden! Eek!”

That was the text message that I received two weeks ago from Jenni. I had been in that garden the day before, on my hands and knees, pulling weeds. While a cottonmouth was stalking me, apparently.

The possibility of a large water moccasin roaming the yard was not amusing, so I headed over to Lowe’s to buy a bag of snake repellent (yes, they actually make the stuff). The problem was, what if I put down snake repellent, and he was trapped inside of the yard, rather than outside?

Of course, Jenni also said that it may be a non-venomous water snake, as they look very similar. However, I prepared for the worst- that I had a cottonmouth in my yard- and hoped for the best- that it was really just a water snake.

I got the opportunity to make the distinction, up close, feeding the chickens that evening. I went out to the carport to bring the chickens a scoop of chicken feed- and there he was. Hiding under a table. He hadn’t spotted me, thank goodness.

With my usual calm and thoughtful demeanor when confronted with a reptile, I jumped up on a bench and screamed for Allen. I also began swearing. Loudly. In Spanish (in times of great stress, Spanish seem to be the best language in which to swear, in my opinion).

Allen came out. He got too close to the snake for my comfort, as per usual. So I started swearing at him in Spanish.

We stood there- me on top of the weight bench, and Allen by the table- trying to figure out what we were dealing with.

Dusky color? One vote for cottonmouth.
Thick body? Not so sure. The vote could go either way.
Big triangular head? Definitely not. One vote for water snake
Slit-like eyes? Hard to tell. Wasn’t planning on getting a closer look.

General opinion was leaning toward ‘water snake.’

“Let’s catch it” Allen suggested.

“Are you nuts?” I said. “You don’t know that it’s not a water moccasin! You just think that it’s not a water moccasin! You have a hypothesis that it’s not a water moccasin! You have not proven that it’s not a water moccasin!”

I headed for the back porch and waited for Allen to get bit and die, since he refused to listen to me.

“Come here!” He finally said. “I have him pinned with a broom.”

The snake was trapped underneath the whisk of the broom. He was curled up, and casually sampling the atmosphere with his tongue. He looked pretty placid.

“He doesn’t look particularly dangerous,” I said. I crept a little closer to him to get a better look. If he were a water moccasin, I doubt that he would be this docile; he probably would have tried to swallow the broom by now.  
I snuck even closer, and got a couple of pictures of him on the camera phone to post to Facebook, of course, so our herpetologist friends (believe it or not, we have more than one) could identify it for us.

“Do you want me to let it go?” Allen asked. “I can dump him in a bucket and take him away somewhere.”

“Nah- let him go.”

We let him go, just like we did with the rattlesnake. As icky as I find them, they are magnificent creatures, in their own way. And he’d clear the yard of vermin- a nice perk.

Allen took off the broom. Bob hauled ass.

I watched very carefully where I walked the rest of the night.

Bob has decided that he has nothing to fear from us, so has decided to carry on his business with us around. Last week, he was in the lawn, sunning himself and happily slithering around the yard.

Bob may still scare the crap out of me, but I am learning to peacefully coexist with him. Out on the carport last night, the dogs and I heard a rustling sound from between some boxes. Out slid Bob, trying to gain some traction on the concrete and get over to another set of boxes. “Oh, thank Goodness!” I thought.” It’s not a rat; it’s only Bob.” He must have been hunting frogs and rats, which seem to love the comfy carport.

Of course, the kids have raises a disturbing possibility- what if Bob is really Bobbie? What I Bobbie in hunting food for her babies (do they even do that?) What if there are about to be ten more Bobs in the yard? I am not sure I’ll be able to peacefully coexist with… Eleven Bobs???

“Aye! Mi Madre!”