Ugh. I've got snake spray all over my hands and arms. For those of you who have experienced being sprayed by a snake, I don't have to tell you that the smell lasts and lasts and freaking lasts.
I'd just gotten out of the shower when my little Frankie came running to tell me that he and 2 neighbor boys had discovered what had so efficiently eaten 27 new-hatched baby chicks in the last week (grrr). I was rather disbelieving. Even when son exclaimed that it was a snake.
"Oh yeah?" I said in a friendly, but matronizing way, wringing out my wet hair. "How d'ya know?"
"Hurry Mama! It's gonna get away!" he said.
That got me moving. Real' fast. A couple years ago here, I managed to get myself bitten by a cottonmouth. I used to be, like, Reptile Girl back in California, catching and keeping for pets various non-venomous snakes and lizards. (Those nearest and dearest to my heart were Alligator Lizards and Gopher Snakes.) So when the cats were messing with a big, thick-bodied snake 2 years ago, I still thought I was, like, Snake Woman, and tried to pick it up. I tried and kept trying, even though the thing was awfully aggressive. I was also trying to do this one-handed, as I was consulting with my brother on the phone at the time. He was online trying to do a snake identi-kit on the creature. By the time I was bleeding and bitten a few times, he enlightened me to the fact that it was a cottonmouth. Hmmm. My bad. Really unforgivably dumb on my part. (But I forgive me. For that at least.) I really do know better than to mess with snakes I don't recognize, especially while on the phone.
To add to my list of grudges against Francis, he made me drive myself to the ER (after I let the snake, which I eventually managed to pick up, go safely into the woods), because he didn't want to be stuck waiting at the hospital with 3 kids. Fortunately, the snake had used most of its venom while striking at the cats, so when it bit me, it was, in effect, shooting blanks. Still, this incident put the respect and even fear of snake bites into me.
So, when Frankie said there was a snake in the barn, I sprinted out there, defying light-speed.
The other boys were yelling that it's in there, it's getting away, it's full of chickens and eggs. The chickens were clattering in a chicken frenzy, flapping up to the dim rafters. Feeling as though I really should have an Aussie accent, I entered the shadowy depths of the old barn.
You know, at least as far as snakes are concerned, size really does matter.
This thing was freaking huge! At least 6 feet long! I don't think snakes even get this big in California. Fucking Texas.
But hey, I've had 3 kids, the last one on the floor beside my bed. No matter how big, no silly phallic symbol is gonna intimidate me. So I grabbed it.
It was trying to flee the scene, it's bulging (my chickens!), sides rippling and winding as it attempted to leave. I hope I go down as a neighborhood legend instead of this just being seen as further evidence of suspicious non-Christian behavior. I carefully maneuvered it into an ex-Leggo bucket, then gently told hold of it behind its head. It wrapped itself all up my arm, smearing me with foul snake stink from its anal cavity in the process. You know, I would really rather my arm and shoulder had been skunked rather than this. It's a seriously yucky stench.
Long story short: it's currently in my shower. It is so big, it gets out of even those big trash cans. It rose up and is coiled around the showerhead and long hose thingy. I keep checking, because I figure she's bound to just escape over the top of the shower door, but so far she's just kind of hanging out. Digesting her chicken dinners, no doubt.
You're probably all stereotypically grossed out. Or hopefully not. I mean, I'm not keeping her. I don't have the heart anymore to keep creatures requiring a diet of other living creatures. I'm going to work at the dog sanctuary tomorrow, so I figure I'll drop her off in the countyside along the way. Far from my chickens. Crap, this thing could eat small cats! (Hmmm...)
And by the way, as near as I can figure, she's an Eastern Rat Snake. Relatively harmless. Unless you're a chicken. I took some pictures and as soon as I figure out the networking system between computers, I'll post them here. Or wait. I bet I can just do it from the other pc...hmmm.
I was going to write more. About how it's my birthday tomorrow (pleeze: don't say it), and I got, coincidentally, some dumb-ass email from someone who found my profile at Literotica, a site I used to publish at but visit no more. It was, like, a form email, propositioning me because I was a "mature woman." Christ. A "mature woman?" Happy fucking birthday.
Not that I mind getting old. Wait. That's a bald-faced lie. Of course I mind! I hate it like hell! I want to be young and desirable for-fucking-ever!
You know, I was cleaning my closet the other day, finally more or less convinced that I'll never be a size 4 again (heh!), and I could not believe how small these clothes were! Geez, I used to be, like, emaciated! But of course I couldn't go grocery shopping without being propositioned. I came to believe that people couldn't like me unless they wanted to fuck me. Even now, I'm puzzled when people are kind to me, thinking, Why? It's not like anyone wants to sleep with me now that I'm a big old farm mom.
I'm in a bummer of a mood. What I really want is to put the world on Pause and take to my bed. Like they did in Victorian England. I want chocolate. I want nice-smelling candles. I want Susana Baca's music. I want a good book. I want to cry for my dog. I want to cry for my failed marriage. I want to cry because I am so terrified about losing my farm, about money. I want the chores to go away, the house to miraculously clean itself. I want to go to sleep.
Shit. I'm depressed. Great. I better go try to shake this off. Starting with making sure that snake is still in my shower.