We've still got it

It was a dark and steamy night. I was in my bed, Smooch and Alex were in theirs.

At precisely 1:31 a.m. Smooch started barking bloody murder. 

She jumped off her chair and ran into the sunroom.

I jumped out of bed and followed her, turning on lights along the way.

I saw nothing. Then the rattling started. I turned on more lights.

Sure enough, there on the edge of the cool, concrete front porch

was a coiled rattlesnake, scared out of its wits by Smooch's barking,

which by now had been joined by Alex's.

I was so proud of Smooch for warning me. She has aged very noticably

in the past six months, and I wasn't sure she still had it in her to sniff out a snake. 

Anyway, there was no way I could let it stay there, so I ran to get 

the snake pole, the snake can and my boots.

This was our first snake of the season and I figured my snake-roping skills

might be a little rusty, particularly in the dead of night.
But it must be like riding a bike – I got him on the first try. 

I moved the can of snake with the tight-fitting lid to a safe place,

for relocation the next day.

Except by the next day, I mostly forgot about the whole episode 

(call it PTSSD, post traumatic snake stress disorder),

and when I finally remembered the rattlesnake in the can

four 100+ degree days later, he was dead, as in not rattling when 

I shook the can repeatedly. I had baked him to death in a metal trash can

and felt positively horrible. All the good snake karma I had built up

over the years by relocating so many of them – gone. 

***

The writing of this blog post Sunday afternoon was interrupted at this very point

when Smooch started barking on the back porch.

***