Since COVID, (because of COVID, thanks to COVID, freaking COVID) I haven't been home alone much. Like at all. And while once-a-month I have gotten on my soapbox about needing alone time for my own mental health self-care (eating wings and reading Vanity Fair) this week I got a compelling reminder why I should not be left at home. Pandemic or not.
It was Tuesday. Monday's more obnoxious sister. I found myself with the whole evening to do whatever I chose. While I had been DREAMING of this time, it was suddenly too much and I got overwhelmed. So much so, in fact, I took to my bed to finish up some BRAVO shows and try to pep talk myself into productivity. Finally I mustered the energy to fold some towels, do a workout, floss and throw out the 9,000th Amy McGrath mailer of the week.
The most narcissistic, prima donna beagle in the world needed to make her nightly trip outside to get all the compliments and head scratches from our neighborhood walkers, so I took her out. I sat down on my front step to make small talk, scroll my phone and serve as lady-in-waiting to this monster of my own creation. I hadn't been as productive or creative as I wanted, but it had been a calm, boring night.
Famous.
Last.
Words.
It was around 7:45 when I heard JD's car hit the driveway. There are no less than 250 alarms that go off to let me know someone/thing is imminent and from which door they will arrive. Which is infuriating, but then I heard Bee say "What is that? Are you tricking me?" and in a tone I don't think I have EVER heard him use, I heard JD say, "Bee! Get inside! Hurry, hurry!!"
They both rushed in and SLAMMED the door. Like the kind of slam I would have been grounded for growing up. JD did that thing from movies where he turned and put his back to the door after he locked it. This is REAL. Was it human traffickers? Some deranged serial killer? Teenagers? Bee was into her newfound dramatics and almost hyperventilating and JD was suspiciously looking out the windows at whatever ghoul was chasing them. I turned back to Bee just in time to make out the word she uttered....
"Snake!"
Oh, hell no.
Now all the Sandersons are standing in the entry way of our (now unsafe) home screaming at different levels. Everything started happening so fast and I can't be totally sure, but I think I blacked out for a second. This was a not a "secure your mask before helping others" situation. This was all hands on deck to burn this house down. A snake??!?!? You want me to live in a house with a snake on/around/close by/God forbid in?
Cooler heads prevailed and we (JD) decided not to burn the house down. But I could tell this wasn't a little tiny snake that looked like a fat worm. With Bee out of earshot and almost out of hysterics, JD said, "Katie. It is a HUGE snake."
No, I hear you. But when it comes to snakes, all bets are off. There are big snakes and little snakes. No in between. But he kept stressing to me that it was "HUGE." Then he asked, "You need to go see it." No, Trump, I don't want to see a huge snake. Are you kidding? As it was, I has already been showered, deep conditioned, face masked and had my lotion socks on before this unexpected snaketastrophe. Now you want me to leave the safety of this bed (which I am treating like an island no snake can get on) and GO SEE THE THING I DONT WANT TO SEE?!?!?! Wow. Hey, JD, want to see some cool naked pics of your 1st grade teacher? No? Why not?
So, he took a picture. Actually, he took about 153 pictures of the snake and brought it in to show me.
He walked across the room already holding the phone out. So, from approximately 4' (not even Faucci's precious 6'), I can tell you that was no snake.
That was the EARLIEST form of dinosaur that had not evolved into arms and feet yet.
It was the Sandworm from Beetlejuice.
It was the Anaconda from Anaconda.
HARDEST of the HARD PASSES.
Knowing based on our almost 17-years together and our marriage vows that I would be literally ZERO help in this situation, JD went outside to get a plan to re-home said snake.
Outside... to the VERY outside where I had just been sitting with the dog.
The very outside where I had been sitting for the better part of an hour.
The steps outside where I was scrolling my phone and playing Jeopardy.
The outside where my idiot neighbors were shouting things like "Loving this weather!" and not "Katie! There is a Biblically large snake right next to you!"
Had it been watching me? Waiting to attack? Was it coiled under the planter box judging me for almost letting one mum die while the other is thriving?
I had JUST been out there.
It got dark and then cold. The rain picked back up. Now Bee was showered and wailing in my bed (also unknowingly treating it like a fortress; you can't deny these genes) about how she will 'never get to sleep because all she will ever be able to think about is what if the snake had eaten Ouis?'
Geez. Dramatic much? What if it slithered past MY car? I am the one it almost killed. But I can't tell her that. I have to be strong. For her. She kept on with her hypothetical theories where I went to the most trusted place I know to go in case of an emergency:
Amazon.
And you would be surprised what you will find when you search "Snake ridder." I found a sufficient product with good reviews and had it paid for just in time to catch Bee say "...but if we did get another puppy." No, what? The dog is alive, I am alive, you are alive and I am guessing your father is alive, but I can't get out of this bed to find out. So I text.
I can hear him outside and I see flashlights moving around like the Coast Guard looking for a Kennedy. He is on the phone and then I hear silence... did the snake get him? Am I the widow of a man who was eaten by a snake? Cause I don't know if that is a good color on me..Nope. There he goes back on the phone. Whew.
He is outside for ages. Bee has calmed herself enough to sleep and I am treating Realtor.com like its Ebay and just blindly bidding on anything. JD comes inside to give me a brief update. It seems he has been using our rake to try to "strongly encourage" the snake to leave the front porch and go to the back of our property, where there is a large lake. (Using a lot of the same language that I was finding on Realtor.com "Beautiful lake... spacious grounds..")That didn't work. He is holding the rake like the farmer in the painting "American Gothic" and I can see he has broken a sweat. Realizing that thoughtful communication and a rake Uber ride aren't going to cut it, he goes back out.
Again, he is gone for ages (I assume. I have no concept of time in COVID). Again, more texting. Turns out, based on the consensus of messages he sent to his varied text groups, this snake might be poisonous and should definitely not be left to its own devices. Some trusted friend suggested calling Animal Control.
Which he did.
And they came.
Faster than a pizza they showed up. Yes, swiftness from a government agency.
A lone wolf, let's call him... Bruce? Sure. Bruce. Bruce was exactly what you would expect of an employee of a government agency contracted company that specializes in ridding your home of vermin. In the Commonwealth of Kentucky.
Bruce was no sooner out of his rig when he said, "Where's that boy at?"
(Do we know it's a boy? I am not comfortable just assigning genders...)
JD explained that in an attempt to relocate 'him,' the snake had slithered elsewhere. He motioned to the general direction that is still 500-miles closer than with which I am comfortable.
"Dag. I wanted to catch him. I love catchin' snakes."
If you do not believe in your soul that everyone has a passion in life to pursue, ladies and gentlemen, meet BRUCE.
Now Bruce has flashlights and JD has flashlights and it looks like the Sandersons are on Molly and having a rave. I seriously debated turning on EDM and tossing some water bottles out the front door and calling it a night. Also, why are we actively trying to find him? I thought the "Ridders" in your signage would have made that clear. But Bruce was a hunter. Of that, I was sure. Mostly because I heard him say "I've been huntin' snakes all my life. Never been scared."
Coming to the sad realization that his big game catch had eluded him, Bruce put Step 2 into action; secure the perimeter. "I bet your wife and your little girl child sure don't want this snake comin' back."
I didn't have to see his face to know that JD was praying for 2 things:
1.Not snakes ever again. Full stop.
2.The courage and faith to take Bruce seriously in that and all moments going forward.
Usually when a vendor starts with their spiel I see JD's finance mind go into action just waiting for the minute he can jump in and say "Yeah, yeah. But what does it cost?"
Not this time. Instead he said, "Will you take a check, Bruce?"
JD came into our bedroom where I am now completely sidetracked by the fact that we still have a checkbook and checks? I hear the unmistakeable rip of the check while JD relays the whole plan. Bruce has to check inside for a couple of markers, but then he can spray this magic spray that repels snakes, mice, rats (are we in NYC?!?), and some other gross things. Maybe pizza rats? Remember that guy? Anyway, Bruce can do that, Bruce can take a check and then we can schedule Bruce to come back every 6-months. JD seemed pretty confident in Bruce and this plan, but just to be sure and because he always says it to me, I asked "Is this the best investment?"
Cool as the other side of the pillow, JD looked at me and said "If I thought letting Bruce move in and live with us like one of those plural families on the shows you watch would mean we never saw another snake, I'd help him pack."
Check written.
Bruce finished up, took the physical check we wrote him, and rode off into the sunset like the prince that he was. Had it been a white horse, it could have been more apropos. I do mean this sincerely when I say "God bless Bruce." And the Bruce's of the world. I have seen some of what the next generation holds and it is NOT Bruces.
We all slept and survived the night. JD explained to Bee the next morning all the excitement she had missed when I offered her a melatonin and some similarly shaped gummy bears. She seemed a little more at ease and definitely less dramatic and scared than the night before. JD was happy with the results from Bruce and really proud of himself for saving me and our "girl child" so quickly from harm's way. I had told him later how just minutes earlier I had been relaxing on the front steps not knowing that the black, scaly hands of death were just inches away from squeezing the very life out of me in front of our neighbors and the dog and on the doorbell camera. He assured me that it was all done and that we would be hard pressed to see another snake any time soon. Bruce promised.
Ok.
But we were all still skeptical. I saw Bee headed to the car looking like she was in a game of hopscotch. And I saw JD on the camera JUMP the steps onto the driveway and still look back over his shoulder. We are all afraid to let the dog out.
That black monster loomed large. And once again, I found myself alone. I would have to face the potential of a snake attempt on my life (again?) alone.
I know what Bruce promised. But Bruce didn't know that just before his arrival, that snake had been watching me. Just waiting. And sure, HE was gone, but what if he had just been a decoy? What if that snake had a friend or wife or husband or crime syndicate that it was working with and overnight or while Bruce was focused elsewhere, they had all worked to get into my car?
I set off the security alarm as a warning shot. Nothing. I got in slamming the door and taking a deep breath. I started the car and put it into gear and pulled out of our driveway.
And then I felt it.
The snake.
Crawling up my left leg; tickling and erratic. I KNEW IT!!! DAMN YOU, BRUCE!!! THE CAR! YOU SHOULD HAVE CHECKED THE CAR! WHY ME? DEAR GOD, WHY ME?!?!?!?!?
Nope. Not a snake.
You have no idea what real, visceral fear is until you mistake a snake for a McDonald's straw wrapper.
But still. Can't be too vigilant.
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