Return of the Snake

I thought my misadventures with nature were over for the week. I had freed a dragonfly trapped between the screen and the glass sliding door. I had avoided running over a freaky bipedal lizard that had dashed in front of my car. (What in the heck was that, anyway?! I have never before seen such a mini T. rex in all the years I've lived in South Florida.) And then the epitome of reptilian excitement occurred when I was alone and saw a snake IN THE HOUSE.

My first reaction when seeing the 18-inch slithering black creature lying there incongruously on the beige tile of the front hall was to retrieve a shoebox. This is the go-to tool in the Weiss household whenever we see a critter in the house. Got a gecko? Get a shoebox. Frog? Shoebox. (Although years ago when we had a frog in the toilet, the rectangular shoebox was of no use. Thank goodness that was in the era of the Danish butter cookie tin, which worked perfectly.)

So, I ran and got a shoebox but then came back to see the snake wriggling and unwriggling into shapes that may or may not fit into a shoebox. What to do? We no longer eat Danish butter cookies, and that wouldn't work anyway!

Don't panic. Think.

I ran to get a towel. I found an old, icky beach towel and threw it over the snake! The snake seemed to like this and slithered further in, rather than trying to escape. I then used the shoebox, which I still had handy, to push/slide the towel containing the snake toward the front door and then outside. The snake slithered out of the towel and just sat there on our front stoop.

End of story, right? No! The next day, my daughter Leah yells: "Mom, there's a snake!" It was right inside the front door. It had come back!

I immediately retrieved the towel and threw it on the snake again. But this time I had much more trouble getting the whole towel/snake package over the threshold of the door. The snake kept slipping out and awkwardly rolling over, giving me a terrific view of its red underbelly which I hadn't seen the day before.

Throw towel. Push towel. Snake falls out! Repeat. At one point it fell out right on the threshold and started slithering back into the house.

"You're going the wrong way!" I yelled at the snake. "Go the other way!"

Finally, I got it outside and then watched as it went under the doormat. Oh, no!

I knew I needed to take more action than yesterday, because leaving it on the stoop had not worked out well. I needed to sweep it away from the house with a broom.

I ran into the garage, got a broom and then walked around to the front door. I gingerly tugged the doormat away, and the snake swiftly slithered out, straight into a gap between the concrete pavers at the base of our front door. The red underside of its tail flashed at me as it disappeared out of reach.

Will this story be continued? I hope not!