Garage Snake

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

I was standing in my driveway and turned to see who was yelling. “Are you calling me?”

“Yes!” my neighbor shouted from the middle of the street. “Do you have shovel?”

“A shovel?”

“Yes. Do you have one?”

“Yeah...what do you need a shovel for?” I could not fathom why she would need a shovel in the middle of the street.

“A snake.”

“A snake? You need a shovel for a snake?”

“Yes – to kill it!”

“You found a snake?”

“Yes, in my garage. Now it is here, under my broom.” She looked at her feet.

I walked over to where she was waiting, in the middle of the street at 9 P.M., standing there with her kitchen broom smashed against the road. I looked closely and sure enough, under the bristles of her broom was a small twelve-inch snake. Raising a eleven year old boy and growing up with two little brothers, I was use to snakes, lizards, frogs, turtles, and salamanders. This snake looked like a baby and it did not have the triangular head of poisonous snake. In fact, it looked like one of the garter snakes my brothers use to catch and terrorize my mother with.

“It is just a baby.” I said.

“So! I don't care! Kill it!”

“But it is harmless....”

“No, it is a snake. Kill it!”

“Here, let me just move it...”

“What?” She obviously thought I was nuts for not whacking it with a shovel and killing it right there. Apparently, to her, all snakes were bad; even cute little coral pink and grayish brown baby ones.

“Move the broom and I will pick up the snake. I will take it over to the bushes where it won't bother you.” I said nothing about the shovel I had sitting in my tool shed.

My neighbor clearly thought I was demented. Shaking her head at me and muttering something about crazy old women, she unwillingly and hesitantly removed her broom from the snake. The snake did not move. It was cold and dark and the snake was probably in shock from being swept out of the nice warm garage and into the chilly, rough street. Regardless, it wasn't moving. I bent down and picked it up by its tail and carried it over to the bushes. I laid it carefully near a clump of pine needles and rocks. I hid the snake under some leaves and a handful of twigs.

Still standing in the middle of the street, my neighbor was shaking her head. “You are crazy,” she said, “snakes are dangerous. It could have bit you.”

“Naw...he is just a baby. You probably scared him half to death.” I replied. “He is gone now. You are safe.”

“Too bad I didn't have a shovel,” she said as she turned to go back into her garage, dragging her kitchen broom behind her. Funny thing was, she never did go buy a shovel...she bought a black cat instead.

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