Snakes in a Yard

I was sitting in my chair in the livingroom watching a little television. Boy2 and Girl2 were in the backyard, doing whatever it is they do. As usual, they were only wearing underwear. Girl2 started screaming. This is not remarkable in itself as she feels the need to use screams as her major form of communication. Apparently small children who are the youngest of four often feel the need to use loud, piercing yells as part of their offensive and defensive repertoires. La Patrona looked over the back of the couch and made a sound remarkably like Girl2. Then screaming, "Snake! Snake! Snake!," she barreled into the backyard like a momma Grizzly on meth. By the time I got outside, she was beating the poor creature with a weight bar.

In La Patrona's defense, she grew up on the High Plains with a healthy population of rattlesnakes and so takes a dim view of anything reptilian. And if it gets next to one of her babies. . . Well, let's just say you don't want to get between her and anything threatening her babies.

After I got her calmed down and disposed of the recently departed, I got the rest of the story. Apparently when she looked up, Boy2, our 4 year old autistic son, was attempting to kill the snake with the weight bar while his 2 year old sister screamed encouragement from the sidelines like a Celtic war-bride. The only reason that the snake was still alive was because Boy2 has poor motor skills and missed the snake the first time.

La Patrona later asked me if she had, "introduced the children to violence." Given their actions, I'm pretty sure they've already got that particular aspect of human behavior down.

Now she wants me to hang the dead snake in the crape myrtle out in the front yard "as a warning to the other snakes," like her half-Indian grandmother used to do. I bet that would get the Homeowner's Association's panties in a twist.

She's crazy, but I love her.

The recently departed:

Elaphe guttata, a corn snake. RIP