Shelley Fraser Mickle author of "Moms on the Loose" and "Barbaro: America's Horse"

The Kids are Gone; The Dog is Depressed &
MOM'S ON THE LOOSE

A Snake Story

I have this thing about snakes. I just have to go on and admit it. I don't like them. Don't care to spend one minute longer with them than I have to. And after I moved into my Florida house, I just assumed my yard would be crawling with them.

Personally I like to have somebody else handle my snake business. But I figured if I were home alone and ran into one, I at least ought to be prepared. I bought myself a hoe. I hung it up in the garage, its new edge bright and gleaming. I doubted I'd ever have the guts to kill a snake with it, but it gave me a sense of calm all the same.

One day when I was vacuuming the family room, a dark spotted snake came across my patio, lifted himself up, spread his neck like a cobra and looked in at me. I dropped my vacuum and ran to the garage to get my hoe.

When I got around to the patio, he was headed for a flower pot. He wasn't very long, but he was fat. And to bolster my fighting spirit, I yelled out a few karate yells. I wanted to let him know that I meant business. He sat up behind the flower pot and hissed at me. I twirled my hoe over my head and let out one long yell to get me revved up enough to bring the hoe down onto his fat head. Just as I was about to, he lay down, rolled over, stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes. This was the first time I had ever succeeded in scaring anything to death.

I bent closer. I leaned over, getting a good look. Then I turned around to go back into my house to drink a little champagne to celebrate my ferociousness. And to calm my nerves.

Sitting there in my family room, I began to think about how some people take joy in wearing snake-skin belts, or boots, and I was beginning to wonder how my own snake now would look around my waist or on my feet. Maybe I'd even start a new trend and design snake-skin barrettes. As I looked out onto the patio to consider how he'd look on me, he sat up, glanced around and slithered off across the yard into the woods.

The next day I told this snake story to the man who sprays my house for bugs. He laughed. "Oh that's just a hog-nose snake," he said. "You can't even get him to bite. His only defense is playing tricks. Acts like every bad snake there is, and if that don't work, he plays dead. Guess he figures nobody wants a dead snake."

I didn't add that personally that's the way I like them best.

Now, I'm not going to say that I've finally met a snake I like. But there is something rather endearing about one that will act like a cobra, hiss like a cat, roll over and play dead, then get up and go on about his business, not to mention get a kick out of watching someone vacuum. That is, I guess, a snake after my own heart.

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