Another notch on my belt...sort of

It was Sunday evening around 7:30. It was raining. That is not a typo. Smooch and I were celebrating on the front porch, dancing and singing and making fools of ourselves myself. The first rainfall in 226 days barely dampened the dust in the rain gauge, but it was proof that evil forces had not installed an umbrella in the sky over New Mexico, as I was beginning to believe.

Anyway, midway through another chorus of "Singin' In the Rain," Smooch let out her snake bark and I shut up long enough to hear the rattling. I grabbed Smooch, ran with her into the house, and came back with the snake pole. I did not stop to pick up my camera – that's how serious this was.

Smooch sniffed out the rattler under the bench, which happened to be underneath a swallow's nest. You may remember that the last rattler Smooch discovered was also located below a swallow's nest. I may have to rethink the whole theory of "swallows are good to have around because they eat bugs."

In any event, a rattlesnake on my front porch was a very, very bad thing and had to be removed. I lassoed him with my snake pole and deposited him in the only available containment device, the ash can.

And there he stayed overnight. He had already ruined our party on the porch, and I wasn't about to spend the rest of my evening trying to figure out what to do with him. If he got a little claustrophobic and thirsty, so be it.

So Monday morning dawns and I wake up remembering there's a rattlesnake in my ash can that I must deal with. My glamorous life. I got everybody fed, then gathered my snake relocation accessories and proceeded apace.

No slippers or flipflops for me this time. I had my asp-kickin' boots on. 

 I kicked the can but got no response. Could it be that my opponent had expired and this story would end right here?

I cautiously removed the lid...

Did you know that telephoto lenses were invented so that intrepid rancher-women wouldn't have to get too close 

to rattlesnakes? I just made that up. Anyway, his beady little eyes were open, so I presumed he was still alive. 

With only two rattle beads on his tail, he was obviously a youngster, but potentially deadly nonetheless. 

I'm going to put the camera down now because this is the part where I need to pay attention.

Wait – he just moved. I'll take one more picture to share before the real action starts.

And not to get all dramatic on you or anything, but should I ever not make it through one of these ranch adventures? 

Just download the most recent pictures on my camera and you should be able to figure out what happened.

So we resume our story where the rattlesnake is held captive in the plastic container, which I'm about to place in the snakemobile. 

Logic says I would have left him in the ash can and not attempted to lasso him again, but the can was full and too heavy to lift.

Smooch: Please may I come along for the ride? I'm the one who found him!

Me: Sorry, Smooch. We can't risk putting your life in danger if this gets ugly.

I tied down the lid on the container just in case, then down the road we went.

I don't usually drive around at 6:30 in the morning. The light is kind of nice and I might have to do it more often ... 

preferably without a snake in the back seat.

I unloaded the rattler about two miles from home. 

I waited around for awhile, hoping he would show me some sign of gratitude for sparing his life, but he did not. 

Alas, all that was left to do was go home and finally get a cup of coffee...

 ...but not before marking another notch on my snake pole.

p.s. Smooch has an appointment with the vet on Friday to get a shot of rattlesnake vaccine.