I hate snakes. The only thing worse than snakes is snakes in the house! Recently, we went over to see my parents. Lo and behold there was a black snake about three feet long and about an inch and a half thick curled up at their front door and happily sunning itself. Its head was up and its tongue was going in and out. As we pondered how to enter the house, it slithered around the doorway and into the grass. Whew! It reminded me of another snake encounter:
One morning, several years ago, as I was waiting for my sister Miriam to arrive to stay with my kids while I went to my doctor’s appointment, I heard Joy shriek, “Mom! There’s a snake in here, a real one. It’s moving!” That didn’t get much reaction from me, but the other kids went running.
“It’s true. It is a snake. It is!” yelled Faith.
With purse on my arm and book in hand I walked into our dining room. Sure enough, there under the chair was a real, live snake. It was just a little black one about twelve inches long, a baby for sure. I didn’t think it was poisonous, though I don’t really know much about snakes. As I was pondering what to do, I saw my sister’s red car drive up. As she walked up the sidewalk, I threw open the door, thanked her for coming, and said, “I hope you don’t mind snakes because there is one in the dining room.” Then I left for my doctor’s appointment! I thought it was pretty funny, but I wondered if my sister did.
When I arrived back home, the first thing I wanted to know was what had happened about the snake. She told a hilarious tale of sweeping it into a dust pan and trying to get it outside with five very interested, but not so helpful children. Oh how I laughed. This reminded both of us of another snake encounter.
I had to wonder to myself, “You know…where there are baby snakes, there have got to be…” No, no, no! Thankfully, I never did see any more snakes in the house.