I was out running at the Shakespeare Theater with Renee, and suddenly, we were passed by two animal control trucks. We ran on, sweaty and uninterested, until we saw that they had pulled up under a tree on our path and were peering up into it.
Curiosity got the better of me. “Whatcha got?”
“Big-ass snake.”
Well. You don’t say. There are every few more fascinating words in the world to me, because there are very few more fascinating creatures in the world to me. I was hooked on the chase immediately.
“What will you guys do with it once you catch it?”
“We’ll kill it.” She had hard eyes.
OK, so I couldn’t allow that to happen, I decided. This turned out not really to be a problem, since the animal control officers took about 2.5 seconds to carefully mull over their options and decide “fuck it.” They left. Good riddance. Now it was time for the REAL professionals to have a go at it.
I started climbing the tree, and finally got a look at my adversary. Sweet Jesus. What a beast. The thing was indeed, as had been advertised, a “big-ass snake.” It was a grey rat snake, and thus perfectly harmless, or at least nonpoisonous. It was every inch of 5 and a half feet long, though.
It was also hanging from the tippiest of the tip-top limbs, and was thumbing its nose at me hanging precariously from a MUCH lower limb. Little bastard. At that point, it became personal. No miserable little belly-crawler is gonna get the best of ME! I shook limbs. I harangued. I threatened. I got all biblical on its ass. No avail. It calmly ignored me, sniffed, and made its way back to the top.
Aha! The ol’ waiting game was afoot! I climbed back down and sat against the trunk, feigning a siesta, hoping the snake’s sluggish mind would fall for my clever, mammalian subterfuge. Renee sat beside me with bated breath.
The little kid who’d been hanging around giving helpful advice up to this point suggested that we pull Renee’s Ford Explorer around and stand on it, thus giving us access to a point, frankly, not even close to high enough in the tree.
Errr, no. “But I brought a net!” “Go away kid. You’re blowing my disguise.”
After approximately the same length of time it took to write the bible, the snake, which I’d already named Adversary (Nobody but me got it. That probably says something about me.), began furtively moving down into the tree. I got up, tracking it the whole way. It finally got to within grasping distance. I reached up, slowly, deliberately, with all the patience and inevitability of, well, a huntng snake.
I struck!
Unfortunately, the little biter had sensed my presence a split second before I grabbed for him, and yanked back out of the way. He then, with a spiteful little flick of his tail, slithered very quickly all the way to the top of the tree again.
I began having very dark thoughts about whether snake meat really tastes like chicken.
The little kid was pointing and laughing, Renee got bored with the whole thing and wanted to leave, and the snake called me a dirty name. This was war.
“You’re not going back up in that tree, are you?” Renee was tapping her foot. A bad sign, but I was past caring.
“You’re damn right I am.”
So up I went. I climbed and climbed, finally leaning against the base of the limb on which the Adversary was coiled. I began shaking the limb. The Adversary appeared monumentally unconcerned. I shook harder. No effect, except a vibrating snake. I shook harder. All hell broke loose. My feet slipped off the limb in opposite directions. My crotch accelerated according to the law of gravity and didn’t stop until my testicles impacted with some force on the tree limb.
Through a haze of pain, I noticed that this impact finally made the Adversary move. He taunted me, moving slowly, deliberately down in the tree, as if to say, “I know you’re in intense pain. Let’s see if you can recover in time to get to me.”
With my crotch sending strong protest signals to my brain, I inched down, getting closer to my Adversary. I finally was able to touch him, and carefully wrapped my hand around him, crooning assurances the whole time.
He freaked the hell out. He snapped around and struck at my hand. Now, I know he’s harmless. I know this. However, the tiny little lizardlike instincts buried at the base of my brain absolutely refused to allow me to retain my hold on the snake. I jerked back, and the back of my head smacked into a thick limb. I saw stars and swayed on the limb. The Adversary had been dislodged from his fortress and dropped to the ground, to the everlasting excitement of the little kid, who squealed and herded the Adversary into a box.
“Looklooklook! I caught the snake ALL BY MYSELF!”
You sure did, kid. I rubbed the back of my head.
I also got my sweat-soaked t-shirt caught on a stick as I was dropping out of the tree, tearing it right the hell of my back. I looked like a blooded veteran, and the kid was proudly displaying his catch to anyone who would stop long enough to look.
Look, I know it was just a damned rat snake, and there were probably hundreds of the little bastards hanging out in the woods around me. It didn’t matter. This snake was doomed if I didn’t do something. I had no desire to see it die. Any positive karma I got from the rescue was minimal, I’m sure, and I’m sure the Adversary ain’t singing my praises right now, but damn it, it made me feel good to do it.
