On Friday afternoon, I was sitting in my backyard, watching kids and talking to Lynn on the phone. I was also watching our cat, Pacha, because he was acting strangely. I was thinking he had a mouse cornered, or something, because one minute he was all ‘cat-stalker’ mode and the next, he was all ‘I’m-a-harmless-puddy-tat’. After checking the time, a little after 5pm, I decided to go in for minute, use the restroom, and get a drink before daycare moms starting showing up. On the way into the house, I figured I’d try to see what Pacha was up to. He has a habit of leaving chewed up bodies around, and I didnt’ want some half eaten mouse in the yard with the kids.
I’m walking slowly and scanning the ground, when I spot the thing he has been playing with. A snake! I thought it was probably dead, but wanted to make sure, so I poked it with a nearby stick. It moved. NOT dead. Hmmm. I don’t want a LIVE snake in the yard anymore than I want a dead one, so now what? First, for some reason, probably some inborn mom thing, I called the kids over to see the snake. They all came running, including my daughter from inside the house. So now we’re all staring at a snake in the grass. My sister Lynn is still on the phone with me and suggests we throw the snake over the fence into the canal where it will float far away from my house. That sounds ok to me so I say to my 12-year-old daughter, ‘Hey, why don’t you throw it over the fence into the canal where it will float away from our house?” She looked at me incredulously and said, “You’re kidding.” Hmmm. Ok. I looked at my 17-year-old daughter standing on my left and before I could open my mouth, she said, “Forget it. You want it over the fence so bad, you do it!” On the phone, Lynn encouraged me, saying, “Oh come on, it’s just a little garter snake, they don’t even bite.”
Wait a minute. That’s right. Snakes bite. Sure it’s little, sort of. But so are Black Widow spiders. So are germs. So are bees. So are…Lynn assures me that I am in no danger from a garter snake bite.
I’m thinking for a moment trying to picture myself touching this thing. One the one hand, I am afraid of snakes, but I’m not feeling too afraid standing there watching it now. Also, I dont’ like feeling afraid. I am against fear. In fact, I’ve been known to do all kinds of things I’m afraid of, just to prove I can conquer fear. This seems like the right opportunity to show my girls and myself that I can overcome my fears. Snakes can be touched. Their mom is a brave capable woman.
I bent down, and assessed my fear level. So far, so good. Lynn was saying encouraging things over the phone. I don’t remember where the girls were.
I reached out my hand. Still ok.
I touched the snake with my hand, grabbing it around it’s little neck.
Uh oh.
Something I can’t even explain came over me. I began screaming. I threw down the phone, threw down the snake and ran, screaming (and waving my arms, the girls informed me later) into the house where I washed my hands every bit as thoroughly as Lady Macbeth. My vision was cloudy and my ears were ringing.
My 17 yr old daughter followed me into the house and with a smirk said, “Aunt Lynn is still on the phone, and she’s laughing.”
I took the phone and endured some sisterly hassle.
Apparently, I’m not quite ready to touch snakes.
The actual snake, moments before I freaked out
P.S. A few minutes later, I heard some screaming in the backyard, and ran to look. It was my two girls, running around, waving their arms and screaming. When they saw me, they pointed, and burst into hysterical laughter. Not my finest mom moment.
