I know snakes are all part of the good Lord’s plan, but then, so are car salesmen, shiftless people and republicans–that doesn’t mean I want to hang out with them.
Several years ago I was with one of my jetski buddies, and I saw a snake surfing along the surface of the water, which prompted me to want to head back to the dock. Pronto.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “Snakes can’t bite you in the water.”
I stared at her. “You know they eat fish, right? What do you think, a snake gets hungry and coaxes some unsuspecting fish back to the shore to ambush them in the cattails?”
She looked around for the snake, and of course, it had submerged. She revved her engine, “Um, I think I’m done for the day.”
I know there are snakes near the house–the property was absolutely snake-ridden with water moccasins when Chap and I bought it, but after clearing out all the weeds, high brush and cattails, I hadn’t seen a snake in almost a year.
Yesterday, Chap called to tell me he had a surprise for me when I got home, and that I wouldn’t have to worry about snakes any more. My mind leaped to worst case scenarios, and visions of dead, skinned snakes made me shiver.
When I pulled into the drive, a small, shaggy she-donkey met me at the truck nuzzling as she searched my pockets for treats.
“Donkeys hate snakes,” Chap said. “They see one they’ll stomp it to death.”
I stared at the donkey and her big round belly. “Is she pregnant?” I said and Chap grinned.
“Two donkeys, fewer snakes,” he said.
I stared down at the animal and shrugged. I guess it’s fine. What’s another ass in the family?