But I will admit that my big ol' booming voice sounds a bit like the shriek of a 12 yr old little girl when I am confronted with something 862 times smaller than I. It depends on the number of legs. I will drop my manly demeanor and admit that I do NOT like anything with more than 2 legs, and nothing with less than 2 legs. Every ounce of my 6'4" 250 lbs being shrivels when I confront something of that description. Today, we'll discuss less than 2 legs.
Last summer, I became the Snake Killer of the Universe. On 4 occasions there was a slithering monster wandering around the yard like it had not a care in the world. On each occasion, having been summoned by Linda, from next door, or Cheley, I was put face-to-serpent with the long, shiny, slithering, menacing objects of my disdain.
The first was actually on the patio. At about 12" long, it died by the blade of the shovel.
The second was near the house, very close to the front door. He managed to get into the bushes. I'm so sorry, but that close to the front door of the house means there has to be a search. He is NOT going to show up swimming around in my toilet in the middle of the night. Cheley and I were trying to look around the bottom of the bushes when...there he is! He has climbed up into the bush and is laying across the tops of the branches looking right at us. Having no real choice at that moment, I sprayed wasp spray down the throat of that jerk while he was laughing at my laundry basket-size eyes. Take that, Snarky!
Number three met his demise by way of the weed eater while trying to knock down the tall weeds. I was doing the weed-whacking, not him. What was an accidental hit at first, became a "here it comes!" attack in the next moment.
The last was the biggest and the meanest. At about 3'+, he was sliding along the back yard like he was surveying his kingdom. He had to die. Armed again with the shovel - sharp point tip, wide spade, long handle - I started toward him. He rounded the back of the pine tree and stopped to look at me. I was probably about 8' away from him, and I froze. I froze like Michelangelo's David. To be quite honest, with him looking at me while flicking that serpent tongue, I felt about as clothed as David, too.
Now somewhere in all my many years, I seem to remember having the knowledge that snakes are color blind; or at least to the point that their sight is "movement-mandated." I don't know for sure, and at that moment it didn't matter. I froze. He stopped, looking right at me and flicking that forked tongue over and over and over. I didn't even let the hair on my arms blow in the breeze. After 8 days, or maybe a couple of minutes, he finally decided there was nothing there and began to move toward the bushes and toward where Cheley was standing with her camera and a zoom lens.
A C-130 from Pensacola NAS came right over the top of our house at about 500' above the ground. The vibration and noise gave me the chance to take a long step and a turn that put me standing over the snake from behind - and he didn't notice. With a quick sweep, I brought the shovel down right behind his head. He flailed around to no avail. His head was still connected by a thin skin and he was pinned to the ground by the shovel tip buried in the ground. He was not happy. He was damn mad. And then he was dead. (Thank you, God!)
My heart was racing somewhere around 440, and I was finally breathing again.
I took him over to the bushes and threw him in with strict instructions to tell all his friends - "Stay the hell away! Snake Killer is King!"
I hate things with less than 2 legs.
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