A lot of us ol’ farm gals hate snakes.
In the rational part of our brains, we know those fat, five-foot-long bull snakes hanging around the barns and sheds eat rodents and pesky birds, but they also eat eggs…and possibly small dogs and children, as well. And as the weather begins to warm, active snakes are a hazard to our mental well being while we rage about like lunatics looking for the gas can and matches, or at least a propane torch.
Years ago, Son #1 put himself through college in Kansas by working on a family farm headed by the funniest ol’ farm gal on the planet. She shared this story with me:
She goes into her laundry area inside the garage one fine summer day only to find a big snake curled up in the bottom of her laundry sink. Immediately, she launches into her shrieking, freakout dance as she races around the garage hunting a weapon, caring not if the snake is a pit viper or the most harmless garden snake.
She comes up with a pair of channel locks and a hammer, and then still screaming her head off, she grabs the snake around the neck with the pliers, closes her eyes and hammers it on the head.
If I remember correctly the snake had passed away by the time her husband obeyed his summons from the field.
Good thing she couldn’t find the gas can like the poor woman in this video clip. (Who must not have had access to proper snake control tools such as farm women have.)
That reminded me of a mid-summer day a few years ago when every time I flushed the toilet throughout the morning, it sounded weird. Finally, that afternoon it sounded like it was going to overflow, so I lifted the lid. A skinny tail curved from underneath the rim and down the toilet bowl. Instantly, I began to scream the house down.
Son #3 ran in, thinking: axe murderer in the bathroom with mom.
Leaping from the bathroom and all around–but holding onto a sliver of hope for a salamander–I screamed: What’s in the pot?
Son #3: Snake
If I’d had access to a five-gallon can of gas and a match right then, our home would have gone up in flames, too.
Anyway, I summoned Gramps from the field with a hysterical phone call. He used his pliers to pull out a hideously green four-and-a-half foot snake from where it had been coiled inside the toilet rim.
Well, for goodness snakes–er, sakes.
Now–as recommended by our local volunteer fire department–I always look before I sit.
But What Do Y’all Think?
Have the woman’s snake-fire critics ever shared a toilet with a snake? (Um…hello? Obviously not.)
Which would be more cost effective for farm husbands? a. Installing a better lid over the septic tank, or, b. Building a new house.
And finally, do creatures from your black sewer lagoon ever make it all the way into your home? (Don’t ask me why I was hoping for a mere salamander. At least they don’t hop…like the frog did.)
- And just so y’all know…Gramps fixed the lid.
Until next time, God bless all y’all and enjoy Ricky Skaggs and Patty Loveless doin’ Daniel Prayed.
*These artists don’t necessarily endorse my blog, I just like ’em.