Creepily, Wiggly Snakes by Debbie Mascot
One time when I was about 6, making my brother, Todd, about 3, we went for a walk on the ranch we lived on. We just went a little past the cattle guard to poke the creek with sticks. Maybe float a leaf or two and then lob rocks at them to reenact the Titanic (pre-love story). It was sadly too low to float stuff and too boring to stay, so we started the treck home. On the road, about 20 feet ahead, center of the road, sat a snake.
Parents cannot be too careful in rattlesnake country, especially with two children who think playing Titanic is fun and that if you cut off Barbie's boobies with a steak knife and cut her hair you have a GI Joe. "Don't touch snakes. Don't play with snakes. Don't poke them. Don't throw rocks at them. If you see one, freeze. They can't see well and won't get you if you freeze."
We were having a skipping contest when I saw it. 20 feet ahead, center of the road, sitting there waiting for us to come into it's well-laid trap. "FREEZE!" yelled big sister.
Out of the corner of my mouth, I said, "A snake. Don't move and he won't get us." We stood there. For a long time. Not moving, just talking out of the corner of our mouths.
"What should we do?" said Todd, looking to his sister for intelligent advice.
"Maybe you should go around through the field and get Dad," said chicken Debbie, who thought standing still was much more inviting than the image of a snake chasing her at full speed, but had no such problem with the image of Todd being chased. In fact, she was sorta, truth be told, hoping for that, because she had it all planned out to run in the opposite direction when it did happen. Realizing that this was not a nice way to think, she quickly came up with alternative rationalization. "I'll stay here and you get Dad. If he starts to chase you, I'll throw rocks at him or something to distract him." This sounded nice and big sisterly to my ears. Little brother was more than happy to make a run for it. Standing still for that long was not one of his strong points.
Todd made a break for it. He headed back a little bit and then made a run around the whole field to the barnyard where Dad was working on the truck. I watched him with one eye and the snake with the other. The snake didn't try to go after him. It just sat there. I think he watched Todd, though, with squinty beady eyes. At least that's what it looked like to me from that distance.
It was a couple of hours before Dad came with Todd. Okay. It wasn't. It just felt like it. It was maybe 3 or 4 minutes. I saw Dad running for me and little brother in his footsteps. Straight down the road. Straight for the snake. "STOP!" I screamed. "FREEZE OR THE SNAKE WILL GET YOU!" I was sobbing now. My dad and my little brother were going to get killed by the snake. I guess I didn't care so much about the little brother because, well, his toys were for the most part cooler than mine. But I kinda liked having a Dad.
They stopped.
Dad looked at it.
Dad picked it up.
Dad said, "This? Shorty, it's just a gopher snake. And it's dead. And you are very, very far away from it. When we said to freeze, we meant if your feet were right by it or something."
So I hate snakes because they make me look stupid and girly.
Oh, and because one time when we really did find a rattlesnake, Dad cut it in half with the shovel and then put both halves in the back of the truck to take to the burn pile (dogs and cats could eat it and die from the poison). All the way to the burn pile, I watched both halves wiggle around creepily in the bed of the truck.
So I hate snakes because they make me look stupid, girly and because they are creepily wiggly.