Did I mention that I once caught a snake with a pair of tongs? And put it in a paper grocery sack? And threw it in an empty trash can, until B was good enough to release it in the neighborhood park? What else was I supposed to do, as it slithered frantically through the house?
Only a few weeks ago, actually, I was about to leave to pick up M from school when I thought to hang up the towels from K and I’s morning swim. And out popped a snake. In our family room. Just a garden snake, mind you, but still close to 2 feet long and, well, creepy. I don’t mind snakes–I had one as a pet for a short time–but I do mind them in our house. And I minded that I either (a) carried him back from the pool in our pool bag or (b) carried him to and from the pool in our pool bag. Double creepy.
Terrified that we’d never catch him–and thus that K would never stop her terrified screaming, and I would always be expecting it to turn up there or there or there–I grabbed my longest set of tongs and went after him, channeling the mama bear in me (you know, the one who was also supposed to be picking up the boy at just that time). We had a good laugh about it later, and there was even a momentary consideration of making him a pet, but in the end, he went his way and all was well.
Did I also mention what caused me to think of this fantastic yet untold story? It was the scorpion I saw on the sidewalk as I left the pool this morning. Yes, scorpion. Not huge by any means, but at least the diameter of a baseball, with tail and claws and all. First the snake, and now the scorpion. Add in the horses we see regularly and we pretty much live in the old west.