You're allowed one guess as to what is inside the trashcan.
If you need a hint, refer back to the title of this post.
This blog has been devoid of Rattlesnake stories this year.
That is not because there haven't been any.
I just decided I wasn't going to creep you all out with
a never-ending stream of Snake-roping pictures and videos.
Because that is what it has come down to...an effin' never-ending stream.
It started on Easter-eve. Smooch and I had just
walked out the backyard gate for our evening constitutional.
Both of us heard the rattle at the same time.
Our heads turned in unison toward the sound.
There he was, all coiled up, 6 inches away from my right heel.
Smooch was on her leash, a half step behind me.
You know that feeling when time stands still
and you see everything in slow motion?
That's what happened.
Frame by frame, we watched the snake's tongue come out.
He uncoiled and struck out, and he missed both of us –
probably because we jumped a few feet in the air at just the right time.
Silly snake had recently come out of hibernation and was still sleepy,
which is why he didn’t rattle until we were already upon him.
I eventually got him roped and put the snake box in the truck bed,
to release him far, far away on my next trip to town.
Except I forgot he was there and ran errands all day
with a rattlesnake in a box in the back of my truck.
Beware the thief who ever tries to rip me off.
Rattlesnake #2a and #2b
Moving on to the weekend before last.
I went into the Garage to find my sunglasses.
As I got close to the workbench, I heard rattling.
"That can't be rattling," I thought. "I'm in the garage.
There aren't rattlesnakes in my garage."
There he was, with his head and tail stuck under the door
on the inside of the garage and his body stuck on the other side.
How does that happen?!
He proved very difficult to rope with the snake pole,
and by the time I caught him, I was so mad that I left the box
in the driveway to deal with later, after we’d both had a chance to calm down.
But when I went out to drive him down the road, he wasn’t in the box.
Apparently he escaped through a small hole near the lid.
(Insert string of expletives here.)
A few hours later, I walked onto the front porch and there he was,
all coiled up in the corner, rattling. So I roped him again,
this time putting him in a garbage can with a locking lid,
and drove him far, far away.
It was last Thursday night. I was sitting in the living room with Smooch,
watching tv because it was 95 effin' degrees outside and who needs that?
I decided to paint my toenails because ... who knows why.
So now my toes are a pretty blue and Smooch is in the guest room
and starts barking her head off. My toes are wet and I’m shoeless,
but I hobble over to see what she’s barking at.
Effin' rattlesnake, moseying along the concrete
at the base of the garage wall.
Then came the moral dilemma:
Do I put shoes on, ruin my pretty blue toes and go rope the snake?
Or do I preserve the pedicure and ignore the snake,
potentially putting Smooch’s life in jeopardy the next time she has to pee?
That took about a nanosecond to decide.
I roped the snake, put it in the can with the locking lid,
and strapped it into the front seat of the truck,
to be released on my next trip to town.