As we turn the corner into autumn, all of God’s creatures begin looking for shelter.
Some of them, being critters with limited brainpower, may get confused as to what constitutes appropriate quarters for the winter.
We had such an encounter recently. One minute our big, lunky lab was happily tearing around the family room doing a few exuberant laps, just for fun.
The mood shifted when she kicked over her dog bed trying to turn a corner.
Under her bed, minding its own business, was a 7-inch long ringneck snake, probably the most harmless member of the entire snake universe.
It was not my first ringneck rodeo. Years ago, our family had a cabin in the woods. In the cabin was a wood-burning fireplace. If a piece of firewood had loose bark still attached, it sometimes contained a hitchhiking ringneck.
So, we had a few incidents.
In the end, it was just nature. Check the firewood and you’ll be fine, and so will the snakes.
This time, though, was different. If my bride had not been home or in the room, I would have scooped up the little feller and taken him outside. But she was home, and she was in the room.
Decision time.
“I have to tell you something,” I said calmly. “Don’t freak out.”
“YOU SAYING THAT FREAKS ME OUT!”
I was holding the snake in place gently with my foot. After the confession, I picked him up and headed outside.
When I returned, my wife had a nutty idea.
“Look under that dog bed,” she ordered. It had been only partly dislodged by the sprinting dog.
Rolling my eyes, I lifted the dog bed all the way off the floor.
There was Snake No. 2.
Another trip to the backyard, which is bordered by woods. Like the first, the second snake was released unharmed, on its own recognizance, and warned not to return.
In the next hour, every rug, welcome mat, dog bowl mat that could be lifted was lifted. We looked in dark corners and under furniture. Nothing.
Then came the door audit. I checked the front door, the back door, the garage door. We used a high-intensity flashlight. There were pinpoints of lights showing through on the bottom, which is all a creature the thickness of a piece of spaghetti needs.
The hardware store had everything we needed – door corner pads, weather stripping, door “sweeps” for the bottom of the door. A few hours later, I declared our house snake-free and snake-proof.
The next day I was gone for a few hours when a text arrived. There was a photo of a clear plastic cup, upside down on the kitchen floor.
Inside, Snake No. 3.
It was now an invasion.
I was pretty sure this one was a stowaway. We’d missed it somehow in the Snake Sweep, and with the holes plugged, he couldn’t get out. So, he surrendered.
I bear no ill will toward these little guys. Our house is next to the woods, so we’re neighbors, sort of. Maybe not the kind you’d invite in, but neighbors nonetheless.
Winter’s on the way. The ringnecks have to hibernate someplace – I’ve found them under flower pots on our patio more than once.
Did they cross the line? Maybe. Did they trespass? Technically.
They’re just tiny snakes being snakes. There is no court in the land that would condemn them. What would the charge be – slithering and entering?
I grew up in a rural environment, at the foot of a rocky hill close to the Meramec River. Snakes were part of the landscape. Missouri has three species of poisonous snakes – the copperhead is the only one considered common. The others are rattlesnakes (rare) and water moccasins, which are generally confined to the southern half of the state.
In our yard, I have seen many black snakes, garter snakes and the occasional rough green snake.
Not surprisingly, to a snake phobic like my bride, every single snake she sees is poisonous, in the same way that all spiders she encounters are either black widows or brown recluses. It’s an amazing streak of poison that should be submitted to the Guinness Book of World Records.
It’s been a couple of weeks since the third snake was relocated. My wife no longer wants to move out of or burn down our house. There is peace by the woods. There is co-existence.
Hopefully, that’s the smart play. I wouldn’t want it to get around the snake community that we are reptile-intolerant. With global warming lighting us up a degree at a time (my proof is the everyday presence of armadillos, never seen in Missouri in my youth), there may be new species that find our suddenly-Southern climate appealing.
Those immigrants could include the pythons that have taken over Florida and who are probably getting tired of hurricanes.
Easy, big fellas. I’m pretty sure we can be friends, partly because you can’t fit under the door.