woMAN VS. WILD

Now, I consider myself to be a fairly brave person; I no longer squeal when I see a spider (as long as it isn’t too big or too close), but I went through a particularly trying experience that caused me to rethink this perception.

I live in a small suburban community fairly close to more rural farms, fields, etc. We get the random mouse, frog in the flowerbeds, that sort of thing, but other wildlife encounters are rare. So, when I crossed through my postage stamp back yard to put something up in my 10x8 metal shed, I fairly ignored my surroundings. I put away whatever it was and headed back for the house a mere 10 steps away. It was then that I noticed something off to my left. I took a few more steps before my brain registered what it was I saw. I screamed and did an awkward high-stepping jig in my rush to put distance between myself and the horrendous monster of a snake I had so casually strolled beside. Safely on the other side of the backdoor, I panted as the adrenaline surged.

Reflecting on how the situation developed from this point. I am conflicted as to whether my mental capacity had been affected by fear and if this played into my decisions. I looked out the glass at the snake—SNAKE!—in my yard trying to decided what to do about it.

The first thing I did was call my husband, who—God help him—was too far away to offer any assistance and didn’t even answer his phone. I left him a breathless half-crazed message about a snake and backyard and I’m okay and something about animal control. Getting off the phone, I shooed my kids away from the door—they were enthralled by whatever it was that could so quickly turn their normally rational mother into a dithering mess. Pulling myself together, I considered the situation.

FACT 1: There was a snake in my back yard.
FACT 2: That snake was not likely to stay put long enough for someone more qualified to arrive.
FACT 3: A snake I couldn’t see was worse than a snake I could.

I arrived at two options; I could either leave the snake alone, letting it wander out of sight, perhaps around the corner, under the shed, curled up in a corner of the kid’s playhouse, leaving me to suspect every step into my backyard as progress through hostile territory. Or I could take care of the snake myself. By take care of the snake I mean "Kill It Dead!" I’d seen the survival shows, Man VS. Wild and Survivorman. They kill snakes all the time. I just needed a sharp or blunt object. I first considered a shovel, but that was in the shed—which would force me back into the snake’s domain—and I felt that the handle wasn’t nearly long enough to keep me at a comfortable distance from the reptile. So then I thought I could throw something at it. Large enough rocks would do the trick if I could get a few good hits in. I had some good irregularly shaped rocks in the corner of the back yard, but again, that would put me in the yard with the snake and that was something I was unwilling to do. But what else did I have that I could throw that was heavy enough to do some damage. Then it occurred to me that the weight bench in the garage held an assortment of rounded but solid weight plates.

So, this is how it all went down. I lugged the weights a couple at a time from the garage, through the house and to the back door, all the while checking to make sure the snake is still in view. Cautiously, I exited the house with an armload (which in my case equals about four plates) and proceeded to climb atop the metal picnic table I have out back. From this vantage point, I felt safely distanced from the snake that was eyeing me but hadn’t yet determined whether I was a threat or not. I grunted as I flung one weight after another at the snake making trips back into the house to get more weights as needed. The majority of my throws missed, only causing the snake to curl up defensively. He didn’t slither away; however, but stayed within range of my miserable aim. I did get off a few good hits. One weight actually trapped the snake's head, but the next throw bounced the first weight away and the snake was freed to hiss at me some more. Eventually I ran out of weights, more than twenty total. Retrieving some of the weights that missed and rolled away into the yard wa not an option though so I headed back in and hoped that I succeeded.

When my husband finally came home, he investigated the damage. His weight plates were strewn across the backyard and the snake had retreated to beneath the shed where it did, indeed, expire. He dragged the snake out, proud and perhaps a little incredulous at me for the damage I inflicted. He proceeded to take pictures and measure the thing. Turns out it was a 6-foot-long bull snake.

Looking back on this incident, I wonder as to whether my actions demonstrated fearlessness or if they reveal a dangerous lapse of judgment. Like I said before, I’m still conflicted as to which, but nevertheless, were I to face a snake in the yard again, I know I’d react the same way.