I Hate Snakes

The title of this blog really says it all. I hate them. Big ones, little ones, poisonous and non-poisonous. I hate them all. In fact, I hate them so much that I am happy to kill them. Yup. Me. The quintessential Mormon Mom, complete with Chevy Suburban, has a killer's heart.

I don't remember how it started. I don't remember ever being tormented with a snake or being frightened by one. I grew up in Maine where there were plenty of garter snakes, but apparently we didn't often cross paths. I think that the real hatred began about 11 years ago, right here in Lehi.

When we first moved to town, we lived in a house down on the south end of town. Jay and Jolene Richins' pasture was our neighbor and there were springs in that pasture. Consequently, there were little water snakes all over the place. (If I had realized THAT, we NEVER would have bought that house.) Whenever I went out to weed the garden, I would find at least one snake, so I took to wearing gloves and carrying scissors. Whenever I would find one of Satan's little buddies I would calmly grab it, carry it over to the trash can, and snip its head off with the scissors.

Remember. I did not say I was afraid of snakes. I HATE them.

I am still famous for the day I happened to grab three snakes and once and SNIP, SNIP, SNIP took care of the problem. When Parker introduced me to his 1st grade class many moons ago, he told the class that I cut snakes heads off with scissors. They were impressed. One day after that I was in Albertson's when I heard a little boy saying to his mother, "MOM! That's the snake killing lady!" I was proud.

But, no more. In the five years since we moved away from that house, I have gone soft. Monday was a lovely day and I was airing out the house and puttering in the backyard. As we ate dinner (yes. . . all five of us at the table at the sme time!) Colby got up for seconds. When he came back to sit down he startled and said, "There's a snake." Just like that. I, somewhat trepidaciously asked, "Where?" I assumed it was out on the patio- I sit with my back to the patio. "On the floor! It just came out from under my chair!"

(This is the part where I lost all my pride.)

I totally freaked out. I had my feet in the air and I was screaming. I screamed until I ran out of air. By that time, Ed was out of his chair and telling me to get up. I kept screaming that I didn';t know where to put my feet, to which he very unsympathetically answered, "On the floor!" By this time the snake, apparently frightened by the vibrations of my hysterical screaming, had gone down the grate into the duct. I was able to force my feet ontpo the floor long enough to climb on top of Ed's chair. I was no longer screaming, but suddenly I realized I wasn't breathing either. A few gasps took care of that issue.

Parker took the grate off the duct (in the floor by the sliding glass door) and pronounced that he could not see the snake. I just knew that snake was going to be happily gliding through my house using the duct system as it's own personal thruway. I had visions of Harry Potter's basilisk hanging out in there. I was on the verge of screaming again when I was sent to my room- and ordered to take the dogs with me. (As if I could go anywhere in the house without Lewis and Clark following me. . .) It only took about 5 minutes before the all clear was sounded. Parker had used a plastic sword to fling the offender outside.

What surprises and dismays me the most is that he and Ed LET IT LIVE! All snakes should be killed. Period.

I had gotten out of the habit of always wearing gloves outside and carrying scissors, but I promise I will be properly prepared before my next weeding session! And I don't go barefoot in my house anymore. It is no longer the sanctuary I once imagined it to be.