“We have a snake in our yard.” My husband searches my face for a reaction before continuing on, foolishly I might add. “I discovered it behind the settee under the lattice fence.” I’ve sat there! I’ve sat in that very spot admiring the view when unbeknownst to me a vicious snake was probably lurking nearby. I shudder at the thought. I feel ill. My heart begins to race and I feel ripples of panic on my spine, but I will myself to listen on.

“It’s at least three-feet long but by the markings I know it’s not a rattle snake.” Ugh, markings. A black-jagged pattern over sleek, shiny pulsing scales as the reptile moves towards its prey; my mind goes blank. Why, why is he sharing these details?! For ophidiophobes such as me, it doesn’t matter whether the slithery reptile with the forked tongue and beady eyes is three-feet long, eight feet or only a couple inches. What concerns me is that it is a slithery reptile with a forked tongue and yup, beady eyes.

“Where is it now?” I croak back.

“Well, last I saw (What?! He wasn’t standing guard?!) it must have slithered into a hold behind a rose bush.”

I get into criminal investigator mode and review all data. I need to solve this pronto since our knight in shining armor with no snake fear is back at work in the morning and it will only be a thin sheet of sliding-door glass protecting the kids and me from that beady-eyed slithering monster.

“Show me where you saw it.” My courage surprises me.

On the way to the sliding door I pass our two oldest children. “There’s a snake in our yard,” I inform them as calmly and evenly as I can in the chance they need to know what led to their mother’s demise.

“Let me see!” they demand and in a whirl push past me to follow their dad into our once tranquil backyard. How I miss our backyard… I heard our four-year old offer, “I’m a little scared” before competing with his sister to see who can climb down the steps fastest.

I join them on the lower patio, my eyes darting about like an over-caffeinated secret service agent. Brett points to a tiny hole behind some thorny branches and part of a retaining wall. “It went in there.” I wonder whether we can encase the entire slope in quick-dry cement, a thought interrupted by the idea of keeping a mongoose as a pet, ala Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book, that beloved children’s storybook.

I return to reality in time to hear Brett assure, “Remember, it’s more afraid of you than you are of it.” Well, BOO then. For now I just need to know do I start in the classified ads under Pets to find a mongoose or hit craigslist?

By Maija Threlkeld

Labels: Maija Threlkeld

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