Something for everyone but the faint at heart. Critical care nursing vent-a-blog, on line dating after 40, animal adventures, cooking and gardening tips. Warning: May be offensive, crude and politically incorrect. Stories in the blog may be based on fact and may also be wildly exaggerated, at my will and imaginative discretion. The character names are changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent and to keep my ass from getting sued.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Anyway, I was telling him about my recent snake encounter and thought I'd pass it along here. Used to be, any snake that appeared on my property was slated for death row. I don't like them and don't want them around. But my friend talked me into letting a couple go on their own way so I generally let pass unharmed outside. Inside is yet another matter.
I've tried my best to be kind to snakes, as he once tried to teach me but a couple of months ago, I had to take one out.
I heard my dog, barking on my screen porch. It was dark, so I turned on the porch light and went out there. There was my fat cat on one side and the terrior on the other side of a little multicolored snake. As the snake tried to strike at dog, the cat would take a swipe at him. Then the snake would try to bite the cat. They went back and forth like this while the dog barked his fool head off. I ran and grabbed a bucket with the plan to get the snake in the bucket and get him off the porch. When I couldn't figure out how to get the snake from point A to point B, I ran out to the garage and got my big scissor looking loooooooong handled hedge clippers.
I was going to kind of push him into the bucket then the little sob snake started striking at me. Add screaming to the barking noise and you got an idea of what we sounded like out there. Anyway, I resorted to giving him the big KABONG with the clippers, then picking the little bastard up and putting him into the bucket. Then since I'd already mortally wounded him, out of kindness and compassion, I filled the bucket up with water and drown him.
It looked like a baby rattler. I let him rot in the bucket before I touched that bucket again. You know, made sure he was dead. So I told my friend, don't be ashamed of windex story. Sometimes with varmits, you got to do what you got to do.