The Villian is dead.
He is no more.
My facebook friends already know part of this story for I had to brag immediately, but for my fellow bloggers and non-facebook friends, I could not leave you hanging on the snake saga.
Two days ago, I encountered a snake lurking ever too closely to my chicken coop.
After a 40 minute stand-off, the snake slithered away into a deep, dark hidey-hole. My hopes were it was never to be seen again.
But alas, the following morning, after a nice little walk, I went to sit in my black and tan striped lawn chair to commune with my chickens only to find The Villian lying underneath my chair.
After a quick scream, a high jump, a skit, and a scatter, I gathered myself, picked up the phone and called my husband to rush to my rescue. He was 30 minutes away.
So, another stand-off began. For about 10 minutes I stared at the snake as he did nothing but lifted his little serpent head and wiggled his tongue. I then decided to abort this little game and go into the house for awhile to wait on my husband.
And now friends, I fear you won’t believe the rest of the story, but if you could see me now, I’m holding up 3 fingers and swearing scout’s honor.
After a brief break indoors, I walked back outside to check on the status of The Villian, when there by the corner of my house was another snake. Yes, another one. Two snakes, alive, at the same time. In the same vicinity. I just about died. Died, I tell you. The second snake was yellowish and I knew it was harmless, but still the idea of living with a den of snakes is a bit unsettling to me.
I dialed my husband again, “THERE ARE NOW 2 SNAKES RIGHT HERE! TWO! DO YOU HEAR ME? I REPEAT 2 SNAKES!”
He was a bit aggravated at this point and said he would get here as soon as he could.
So I waited and I watched. The yellow snake slithered towards the first snake. The first snake decided he wanted no part of meeting a new friend and slithered across my path. And that’s when I had my chance. Raising my shovel mid-air, with a hearty Tawanda yell (Fried Green Tomatoes reference) I gave that snake a good whack. Unfortunately one whack barely did any damage. It just kind of stunned the fellow. So I kicked it into overkill and began madly whacking the snake repeatedly, issuing primal grunts the entire time. I just couldn’t stop.
After I caught my breath and allowed my heart rate to decline to at least 400 beats per minute, I glanced over to where Mr. Yellow was last seen. He was gone. Perhaps he witnessed the event and decided he better get the heck out of dodge if he knew what was good for him.
J-Dub arrived shortly after and confirmed that it was just a little old bull snake, completely harmless, perhaps even considered a good snake as far as good snakes go, and tossed it into the pasture where it is slowly rotting and crawling with ants as we speak.