Old Weird Ward
Unless otherwise noted, that which is posted here is opinion, which is protected by the First Amendment to the US Constitution. If you don't like my opinions, go somewhere else. Nobody is forcing you to actually read this drivel.
The presumption exists that you can read at all.
That may be a large assumption.
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Tuesday, August 03, 2004
- - - - - The Critter In The Garage - - - - -
Mrs. OWW went out to the garage the other night to get a box of something-or-other from the stack of boxes that still haven't been unpacked from The Great Move (tm).
And, whilst looking for the box of something-or-other, she sees what looks like a rat's tail moving behind another box, one that's underneath OWW's fabulous 16-foot workbench.
So she does the sensible thing.
"OWW, there's a creature out in the garage!"
OWW, being a manly man (as opposed to the other kind of "-ly" man that it's not PC to say), strolls out to the garage, going "there-there, Sweetheart, whatever's there, I'll chase it out."
When I moved the box that the creature was behind, what did I see but a snake, curled up underneath the workbench.
Now, a snake is not a rat. Nor yet an oppossum, or a raccoon, all of which I know how to deal with. Nor was this one, a handsome black fella, with lighter bands about him, yet a rattlesnake - which I certainly will not deal with, or any other snake for that matter. After all, I'm a city boy from San Jose, CA, and unused to dealing with snake-type snakes. Human-type snakes are a different story - them I know about.
So, I huffed and I puffed and did the Manly Thing - I called the number listed in the phone book for Animal Control.
On a Saturday night, at 9:30 in the evening.
The dispatcher sent a Sherriff's Deputy, who looked at Mr. Snake and said quite briskly, "Thet thar is a moccasin, which is poisonous, and I ain't goin' anywheres near him, 'cause I'm scared to death of snakes."
Pretty soon the Deputy's supervisor, a Sergeant, rolls up in his squad car to deal with Mr. Snake.
On a Saturday night, and it's now 10:30, and I've got two squad cars, three cops, one wife, and my Manly Self standing in the driveway, peering into the garage. I just know I'm gonna hear from the neighbors tomorrow. I'll have to think up some kind of good lie. Aliens bringing Elvis back to sing Heart Break Hotel, maybe?
Anyway, The Sergeant says "Yep. That's a moccasin. We'll get him out right smartly. Got a broom?"
So I hand him a broom, and he scootches Mr. Snake out from under the shelf, and Mr. Snake promptly moves between two boxes, under a bicycle tire pump, and will not come out.
Well, now what?
We (the cops, that is) call the DNR (Dept. of Natural Resources) guy what's in charge of moving snakes. Snakes are a natural resource, I guess.
The DNR guy looks and says "Yep. Mr. Snake there is a moccasin, and from the way he's coiled up, he's right pissed."
Wonderful. A pissed-off poisonous snake in my garage.
Five minutes later, with the aid of a snake hook, the DNR guy is holding Mr. Snake up in front of me (about 10 feet in front of me!) and asking do I want to kill him?
I consider it for a few seconds, but decide against killing the damned snake - after all, he hasn't actually bitten anyone. Besides, this is the moccasin's natural territory - it wasn't his fault my garage is there! So the DNR guy takes Mr. Snake off to the bushes and turns him loose.
Of course, the next time I find a snake in my garage, that sumbeatch is DOA. Unless he strikes first, of course, in which case I'm likely to be DOA.
Mebbe I should have killed him anyway.
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