Trude, Don't Look! It's a Snake!

I was puttering about in the yard when Tom and Ms. Pearl burst through the door from the garage and beelined their way to the house.

He was carrying a pistol on his way back out of the house and said, "Come see what's in the garage."

I kind of knew what I'd see. There were clues: the hurrying, the pistol.

Yep. 

So Tom dispatched the rattler while I kept saying, "Oh. Oh. Ew. Ew." Or as they say in Albuquerque, "Eeeeeee!"

Sorry Mr. Snakey. I know you were just looking for a cool place to rest out of the hot sun, but we walk through the garage many times a day. And you rattled at Ms. Pearl.

I allowed your buddy Black Snakeyboy to stay in the garage after I saw his skinny black tail disappear under the work bench a couple weeks ago because he eats mice and he won't kill Miss Bonnie like you would. She's only 6 and a half pounds, too small to withstand a poisonous bite.

And we have little dog relatives, like Cousin Murphy and Lexilulu, who we must protect.

Cousin Murphy (I lost my Lexi pics on the other computer!)

So rest in peace, Mr. Rattlesnake. May your heaven be full of rodents and cool garage floors.

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