The cycle of life Spins Faster in the Country ~ By, John Howsden

I was in my backyard yesterday evening; three drinks into Happy Hour, when my wife, Diana, pointed to the far side of the yard and said, "I think I just heard a rattlesnake.” Somewhat anesthetized, I hadn't heard anything. However, always wanting to be the knight in shining armor, I marched over to the edge of the lawn to take a peek. As I peered over the embankment through somewhat blurred vision, I saw a fat rattlesnake four feet down the embankment with what looked like a feather sticking out of its mouth. My butt puckered and an involuntary grunt shot out of my mouth. Upon hearing this, the snake looked up and stared at me, the feather dangling from its mouth.

 

Squeezing my toes so as not to run out of my Sperry Topsiders, I high stepped it to the tool shed. Reaching the shed in record time, I flung the door open like Mother Hubbard looking for crack. Facing me were several wooden handles stacked in the corner, and for the life of me, I could not discern which handle belonged to the hoe. Finally, I reached in, swooped up the handles with the crock of my left arm and threw them out of the shed. After rummaging through the pile of tools, promising myself to paint the hoe handle fire engine red later, I grabbed the hoe and ran back to where I had left the snake.

Surprisingly, the snake was still there. The jog to the shed must have cleared my vision, as I now could see that the feather was actually the tail of one of our pet ground squirrels. Balancing on the edge of the dirt embankment, I raised the hoe above my head and took aim. The first swing hit short by about an inch. The snake reared back. I scooted closer, aimed and nailed him just behind the ears.

Although I had swung with all my might, the head was still somewhat attached. I swung several more times, raising such a dust storm that I couldn't tell who was winning. Finally I stopped to catch my breath and let the dust settle. Once the dust cleared, I spotted the snake half buried in leaves and looking dead. I picked it up with my hoe and laid it out on the lawn. The squirrel's tail was gone and in its place was a squirrel's foot. The snake's head was still attached by a sliver of skin.

My mouth was dry, my hands were shaking and sweat was dripping off the end of my nose. Meanwhile, Diana who had initiated this whole affair was still sitting in the lawn chair on the patio within a few steps of the sliding glass door.

I last saw the snake when I hooked it with my hoe and flung it over the embankment. In mid air the head separated from the body. The next day I painted the hoe handle red and assured Diana I would never doubt her bionic hearing again.