Creepy Crawliessssssss

Snake season is in full effect around here, and I, for one, wish they'd just stay hidden.

I'm not one of those people who shouts, "Death to all snakes!!!" because I understand their role in balancing the ecosystem and all that. If we didn't have snakes around here, I'd be completely grossed out by the overabundance of rodents. Which we'd have if there weren't snakes around to keep the population in check, right?

Right.

But oh, I just can't bring myself to like snakes. I don't really mind them, though I object to them suddenly slithering out of a crack in the sidewalk a few feet in front of me, as happened last year. At least one man and his dog witnessed my high-pitched squeal and the amazing sight of my feet clearing the ground by at least three feet.

It's when the snakes get out of hand, and remind me of their presence (as though I'm not already thinking, every time I leave for my morning run, about the possibility of seeing them) three times in a two-day period. Come on, my sssslithery non-friends. Go back to your hidey-hole.

It started yesterday, as I walked home after my run. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tell-tale jiggle of movement that had me squealing and jumping back. This one was a small garden snake--the kind we get around here a lot. They're black with one or two yellow stripes going down their body from head to tail, and not so bad when they don't startle the heck out of me.

But last night--oh, jeez. I was driving home from choir rehearsal, happy that Don let us out early and anxious to get home. On the road right outside our neighborhood, I encountered a very large, very dead, but still very freaky reptile in the road. Another high-pitched squeal, a slight swerve of Rosie Pro's tires to avoid actually crushing more of it (ugh...), and a serious case of Sudden Onset Heebie Jeebies. I'm pretty sure this one was a rattler.

Then, this morning. I set out for my run, wary and watchful, but hopeful that my footfalls would encourage all snakes to stay out of sight. As I descended a downhill path through the nearby wetland preserve, however, I spied a tiny little creature, slithering across the path about ten feet ahead. From that distance, I could just make out stripes on its tiny back--it was only about three or four inches long. I know for certain it was a snake, not a worm. Worms, out of the soil, flop helplessly. This creature was definitely slithering with purpose.

I don't know how I acquired this nervous fear of snakes. Again, I don't think they should be killed on the spot, and I even think rattlers, if found in the neighborhood, ought to be carefully trapped by a professional and removed to the uninhabited areas across the main road into our neighborhood. Let them live, let them keep the delicate balance in our ecosystem. Let them also be free of having little snake heart attacks because of encountering me. In the end, I realize they are even more terrified of me than I am of them, and that my chances of being hurt by a snake are far, far smaller than their chances of being hurt by me are (I've seen enough run-over snakes in my neighborhood to attest to this). So we keep a wary co-existence all through spring and summer, until the cooler weather comes, and they finally settle down to hibernate.