Returning from the mailbox a couple days ago I was pants-wettingly startled to see a 3-foot snake curled up in our flower bed. I hate snakes... especially snakes that scare me so bad that my excitement about finally getting my Johnny Cash CD's in the mail is ruined. I grabbed a shovel with my jittery hands, and - well... the snake put up a good fight, but in the end the shovel was just too darn snake-splattery for him to have a chance.
Killing that snake reminded me of one time when I was mowing the lawn and accidentally ran over a snake on purpose. I remembered it like it was yesterday... because it was last Thursday. How many times do you have to run over a snake with a mulching lawn mower before its matter ceases to exist? The answer is three.
I never killed a snake in my life, and then I killed two in the space of five days. I felt bad both times, but I know if I see another one, I'll do it again. I guess I could find a way to lure the next one into a bucket and then drive it out to the canyon and release it peacefully in its new home. Yeah, that's gonna happen. And next time I see a shark at the beach I'll take it by the fin and guide it to a distant shore.
I hate snakes! And if they've been talking to each other, I'm guessing they're not too fond of me either.