Fear Not

While this story is true, it has nothing to do with fire.  Well, maybe a little.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning in early summer.  I was sitting on the couch watching TV, probably cartoons or something, procrastinating about doing yard work.  The front doorbell rang so I lazily got up and opened the door.  Standing there, almost in tears, was my next door neighbor.  She said in a panic “Please help me! Please, come over and help me! Please hurry!”  Always the fireman and eager to help, I dashed out the door with her leading the way.  I yelled “What is it!? What’s wrong!?” Halfway across my front yard I heard these words “My husband’s not home and there’s a huge snake in my backyard!”  

I stopped on a dime. So did my heart.

Now for those of you that know me, you know I am deathly afraid of snakes.  I don’t know why, except for the fact that my dad is also.  He must have passed it on to me.  He always says, “Son, there are only two kinds of snakes in the world - live ones and dead ones - and I don’t like either”. 

Had it been a spider, a roach, an evil squirrel, a bear, 19 masked gunmen, or even a poltergeist, I would have been her man.  But no, it had to be a snake.

I did an abrupt U turn in the yard and headed back in my house shouting back to her “I forgot, my doctor said I couldn’t go outside today!" Still, she continued to beg and plead with me for help. And being the idiot that I am, I gave in to her pleas, grabbed my shovel from the garage and headed for certain acute myocardial infarction.

She ran (and I crept) to the very back of her yard, which was near a drainage pond for the neighborhood.

And there it was…Anaconda’s big brother.  Her descriptive term of "huge" was an understatement.  If somehow I managed to kill this snake, it would be a world record and I would be on the cover of magazines everywhere.  Of course, that’s how it looked to me. In reality, the snake was probably about 5 feet long and as big around as your fist.  (Your fist, not mine. I’m not getting close enough to compare.)

I tried to talk her into just letting the snake be. Maybe he would quietly slither off and never be seen again.  Maybe I could still salvage some manhood.  She cried and said no, because her babies played in that yard and she couldn’t have a snake swallow up one of her babies.

Crap. So, here we go. Luckily, he was facing away from us.  With every ounce of courage I had in my soul, I took the shovel, quickly placed the blade behind the snake’s head, and drove it hard into the ground, hoping to chop off its head.  But, since these neighbors had been doing a lot of yard work – removing small tress and underbrush, and tilling the ground to plant grass – the shovel sank into the soft sand and just pinned the snake there.  I tried more forcefully to push on the shovel with my foot.  It just sank deeper and deeper with no luck.  The snake was pinned and still very alive, and it got angrier by the second. 

Suddenly, to my horror, the snake with all its might, wrapped its entire body around, and up the shovel handle! Its tail stopped only about an inch from my hands! I put my hands as far up the handle as possible so it couldn’t touch me. Heebie-jeebies doesn't even come close to describe how I was feeling. (Even now, while I’m writing this, I’m getting nauseous and light headed and I may pass out.  If you see my words trail off the screen, you know what happened.) 

As I tried to reposition the shovel to get a better grip and drive it down harder, the snake got loose.  Let me repeat that, IT GOT LOOSE. 

Most people would agree, when spooked, I am extremely quick for a big man.  One time, I saw a snake while cutting grass and I let go of the lawn mower, ran in the house, closed and locked the doors, shut the blinds...all before the lawnmower cut off.  

The mower stayed in the yard in that same spot for weeks.

As you may recall - IT GOT LOOSE. Moving faster than human beings are allowed, the lady and I turned and sprinted, at speeds that would make olympians jealous, toward the deck on the back of her house.  As we ran, the air filled with eardrum breaking, blood curdling screams like those from a nine year old girl. I looked at the lady, saw that her mouth was closed, and then realized those screams were coming from me. I have no doubt I was heard three states away.

At one point I looked back and saw the snake right on our heels. It was pissed and it was chasing us. Let me repeat, it was CHASING us.

I learned later after describing this snake to an “expert” that it was a Water Moccasin and “yes, they are aggressive and they will chase you”. 

Had I known this little tid-bit of information earlier, there would be no story, because my butt would still be on the couch watching Scooby-doo.

Still screaming, we hurried up the steps onto the deck and looked back to see where the snake was.  It had stopped about 10 feet from the deck.  It looked at me directly in the eyes.  It wanted vengeance.

Trying to decide what to do next, I looked down near my feet and there, like a beacon of hope, was a can of gasoline and a cup.  I asked the lady to grab some matches from in her house.

Now kids, don’t try this at home.  I am a professional…a professional idiot.

I filled the cup with gasoline and tossed it at the snake hoping to connect.  Bullseye!  It started squirming like a kindergarten kid who just quit his Ritalin cold turkey.  I grabbed the matches, started lighting them one at a time and tossing them towards the snake.  On about the 5^th or 6^th match toss, the gasoline finally ignited and the snake went up in flames. As we stood there and watched it die, I’m sure I heard it say my name and how it promised to haunt me in my dreams that night.  It kept its promise.

When the smoked cleared and I was certain the snake was dead, I told the lady it was her mess to clean up.  I also said she could keep the shovel since it now had snake cooties on it.

Mentally and emotionally exhausted, I walked back to my house next door through the front yard. 

As I walked, one thought came to mind. 

Whoever came up with “face your fears” should be kicked square in the chicken tenders with a steel toe boot.

I never spoke to that lady again