So imagine my surprise when my husband says to me last week: “Don’t be surprised if you see a big black snake sunning in the driveway; he’s a good guy … he’ll keep away all the things you don’t like in the garden, like bugs and spiders.”
Ohmigod, I nearly had a heart attack. We live out in the country, so you can imagine we get some whoppers at our house. Normally the mister’s not a snake guy, but I suppose that applies to copperheads and snakes other than his new friend the black snake. And to top it all off, he’s traveling this week. So everyday when I head out at 6:45 to get our son to the bus, I lay in wait for the black snake to be there, hissing and waving at me. I asked my son: “What if he jumps up and slaps us with his tail?” He said: “Mom, you’ve been watching too many cartoons.”
Still, I’m just saying.
My husband knows I’m going to take a wide berth around the snake and would never venture close enough to actually kill it with a shovel … most likely I’d pass out or barf first, and then it would slither over me, so I’d never chance it. But I’m not above hauling ass to the neighbor’s house to find someone to dispose of it. And I’m not above running over it, like, a hundred times. So I bet my husband’s praying just as hard as I am that this week I don’t see that damn snake.