Samurai Snake

St. Patricks’s Day was on Saturday and being curious I did a little research on the subject and discovered that according to The Smithsonian Zoo Magazine:

 And I quote....“Legend has it that St. Patrick drove all the snakes from Ireland. Sometime back in the fifth century he stood on a hill, the story goes, and used a staff to herd the slithering creatures into the sea, banishing them for eternity. It's true, aside from zoos and pets, there are no snakes on the emerald isle. In fact, there never were any snakes in Ireland.” Unquote..

Bummer..

Cuz If Saint Patrick was around today I definitely would have given him a jingle.

You see it all started awhile back when I stomped down the stairs into my basement and sitting there, coiled in the middle of the floor, was a rattlesnake.

Yes, I said a rattlesnake.

Now albeit it was a baby rattler, but nevertheless a rattler just the same.

Obviously this was not an optimal situation…..

Actually baby rattlers are supposedly far more dangerous that adults cuz they haven’t learned to ration their venom yet.

Kind of like using all of your Nerf gun ammo on one surprise attack mission.

I don’t know that this is true, but either way I don’t want either a Papa or a baby snakey-poo test driving their fangs into any part of my tender anatomy.

Now most homes in California don’t have basements, but I happen to live on the edge of a canyon and the lay of the land allowed a basement to be hollowed out underneath my house which is level with my in-ground pool.

It is not uncommon to have many varieties of fuzzy and slithery creatures visit my backyard domain to hang out, lay in the sun  and sample the water from my “cement pond.”

Most of the time they are content to stay outside.

But apparently on this day “Mr. Venom” was looking to relocate to a cozier snake shack and thought he would slither on in and see what amenities we had to offer.

Before I go any further I need to give you a little more background information.

A few years back I flew to Oklahoma with my Mama to visit her sister.

One day during my visit I was taken to an infamous “junk store” by my demented, yet adorable cousin to peer at their various and unique items that they offered for sale.

(If you have read any of my previous entries, he is the one who challenges tornados while tied to his own personal windmill, sporting only a leopard thong)

(It’s not surprising we are related)

On this shopping venture I stumbled upon a Samurai sword which I stupidly bought for my teenage son, (I should never have been put in charge of raising children), cuz it was cool and I knew he would love it….DUH!

This wasn’t one of those bazillion dollar ones which belonged to some Japanese warrior but was authentic looking enough to hang on your wall and be impressive.

But because he is a teenager it was given the usual five second dismissive perusal, immediately placed upon the wall in his room and forgotten about.

Until the snake intrusion.

So there I was bounding down the stairs and as I hit the bottom landing I see the 9 inch “rattlebaby” casually scanning the furniture for the cushiest corner to claim for his own.

Bear in mind, all of my possible snake-killing weaponry was located in the garage, which, as luck would have it, was on the other side of the door that the snake was guarding with his cold, coiled body.

What to do? What to do?

Where is Bear Grylls when you need him?

If I run around the house to fetch a shovel, the wily serpent could slither under something and disappear forever!

Until he decided to reappear at a later date to slide up the stairs and sink his fangs into my unsuspecting sleeping body.

Sadly he wasn’t sporting a cat bell around his neck that would make him easy to find.

And then I remembered….

I have a Samurai sword!!

A long, curved, shiny, sharp Samurai sword….

I leaped up the stairs, yanked the sword off the wall and galloped my way to the bottom of the staircase, hoping to still find the snake in the same spot.

Luckily he was.

Nine inches of serpentine smugness, swiveling his head like a miniature periscope, checking out the basement real estate.

Mustering all my courage that I could, I slowly crept across the room, all the while keeping the creature in view lest he tried a sneaky snake back attack.

I figured I had a 3 foot blade cushion in case he decided to strike before I could deliver my mighty blow.

Now before anyone gets all weepy here, let me just say I am an animal lover.

I do not crush snails that are lumbering their way across the sidewalk and I haven’t burned any ants with a magnifying glass since I was about 5, or maybe 20.

So believe me, if I could have avoided the kamikaze action on rattler boy, I would have.

But death by snakebite is not on my “Bucket List” and I like to sleep at night without worrying about any venomous villains villifying my bed.

Therefore, he left me no choice.

It was just like a scene from a Jackie Chan movie with my stealthy ninja moves and my gleaming sword swooshing through the air.

Bottom line, I lopped off his head.

I felt bad.

Sorta.

I would not have made a very good medieval executioner.

Henry the Eighth would have fired me immediately.

But afterwards in my sorrow I did the only thing that seemed logical.

I took his picture and texted it to my kids.

They know I’m insane so they weren't especially surprised.

But even they were impressed by my snake hunting skills.

"Mom the Snake Hunter."

Sounds like a show on the Discovery Channel.

I ceremoniously placed his decapitated body on the patio to see if it would mummify and I could save it.

(I told you I am crazy)

But later that week we had a wild wind storm and it must have blown away.

Or a cat ate it.

Either way, the only thing I have to prove my tale of terror is the picture on my phone.

And the slightest smidgeon of blood that I left on the blade of the sword for visual effect.

Hey, I TOLD you I was crazy!

…….I’m just sayin’