Wildlife and Weekends

If you come to our house on a weekend afternoon, say, between 2 and 4, you’re likely to get a somewhat frosty reception.

It's not that we don't enjoy company.  You see, that’s nap time. As we approach another decade of life, we not only appreciate naps, we need them. We get up at the same time every morning, weekends and holidays included. “Sleeping in” means staying in bed (usually awake) until 6 in the morning.

So weekend naps are a time-honored tradition. It’s when all the chores stop, we retire to separate parts of the house, one to the bedroom and the other (usually me) to the recliner in the den. I either listen to something on NPR or put a book on my iPod, usually something that I’ve already listened to so it won’t matter if I doze off and miss part of the story line.

That’s what I was doing this afternoon. It was a good nap, too, because el Doggo Importante has learned that he can lie on my lap and doze, too, if he’ll sit still.

The dog didn’t understand the concept of a “nap” at first. While he’d start off on the floor at my feet, he’d pop up every 15 minutes or so as if to say, “Still napping? OK, I’m just checking in case you wanted to throw the ball or something. You go back to sleep, I’ll check back in 15 minutes or so.”

This usually got him relegated to doggie jail (i.e. his downstairs crate) for a while.

Nappers don’t have a lot of tolerance for interruptions for the most part. That’s why we don’t want to see you – no matter how much we love you – between 2 and 4 on weekend afternoons.

So today was a good long nap. I’d finished all my chores, so there was no lingering guilt about napping too early. Both the dog and I were just waking up and stretching, victims of small bladders.

We'd just gone outside to do our business (the dog, not me) and when we came back in heard a shout from the stairwell.

“THERE’S A SNAKE IN HERE.”

My response was incredulity – we’ve never even seen a snake in the yard here before. More likely, it was the string out of my gym shorts that the dog had decided to pull out the day before that he’d been hiding around the house.

The shouts from the hallway convinced me that the “drawstring” was now moving, and I needed to help contain the savage beast.

Neither of us like snakes. We’re not especially afraid of them but have no desire to share the house with them. Our goal, therefore wasn’t to kill him – besides, snake guts are bound to be a pain to clean up – but rather to just GET HIM THE HELL OUT OF THE HOUSE.

This meant that one of us had to watch him while the other found a “snake containment device.”

We have a lot of stuff in our basement. There’s a lot in the kitchen, too, but nothing seemed to scream “Snake Carrier” right off the bat. System requirements were pretty minimal – mainly, big enough that nobody had to touch the snake and a lid to keep him (or her) inside during the relocation process.

Ever notice how when you need something the most you can’t find it? There was a big bowl in the kitchen – 2 of them, even – and the lids are nowhere to be found. Fortunately, a plastic bin presented itself in the avalanche of stuff in the pantry as I frantically dug for a solution.

Mr. Snake, who was shrinking in my mind from the murderous 12 foot python he was when I first saw him IN THE HOUSE to a more manageable 18 inches, wasn’t moving very fast, fortunately, and was content to stay on the stairs for a while – although he was obviously headed for the bedrooms.

If he'd gotten to the bedrooms, it was a cinch there would be no sleeping in this house until he was found again. If he disappeared, well, we’d just have to move into a hotel until we could sell.

Now, as anyone who knows us knows, we are full-figured adults. The grandeur of our house means that two people our size can pass shoulder to shoulder on the stairwell.

They cannot, however, dance and jump to avoid a poisonous snake.

Snakes are all deadly poisonous. I just know these things.

At first, it looked like he might go into the bin on his own. Then he turned around to attack, sticking his tongue out at us.

Tongue movement is, of course, the primary indicator that a deadly poisonous snake is about to attack and eat two full-sized humans. 

Michael Jordan wishes he had as much hang time as we did on that stairwell.

Fortunately, Mr. Snake kind of coiled up on a stair, which meant that we could take the lid and encourage him into the bin from a safe distance, clapping the lid on and sealing him in.

That's just what happened, as soon as we came out of the air.

Where he came from we have no idea. Painters have been working around the exterior for the last week or so, and some of the windows have been open. The basement was open some yesterday as well, and he could have come in that way although that’s a LOT of steps to manage for a creature with no legs.

After a brief stop at a friend’s up the street to confirm the “You ain’t gonna believe this sh*t” factor he was dropped off at the cemetery, not as an occupant but as a resident. There’s a creek through it and a lot of undergrowth that looks like the perfect snake habitat.

Regardless, it’s better than having him coming into the bedroom to surprise us.