Lots of Laughs

When critters come a-calling, rural life is anything but quiet.

Birds and snakes and bears... oh my!

“Let me call you back,” said my husband, Bob. “We have company.” It was Super Bowl Sunday and I was nestled blissfully into a recliner, contemplating my team’s chances. Wind blew against the windows and orange light from the fire danced around the room.

But Bob’s signoff snapped me back to the moment. Company?

I hadn’t heard the door. “Who’s here?” I asked.

Bob, a man you might be able to rattle if you hit him with a tire iron, pointed to the carpet and said, calmly, “Snake.” Now, in my opinion, nothing about snakes should be approached calmly. I’m all for screaming, flailing, pleas to the Almighty and speed. Height is good, too. Once, I hovered above the ground for a solid two minutes while a friend dispatched a reptile.

This time, I stood balanced on the recliner. To my eyes, the snake was 9 feet long and as big around as a municipal drainage pipe.

Bob asked, lazily, “Now, how did he get in here?” Then he strolled off and returned with a towel, smiling and peering closely at the creature. “Mags, look how pretty he is.”

“Get it out of here!” I shouted. He removed the snake without incident—just another in a string of encounters with the animals that call this hill home. Usually these episodes are benign, like watching deer graze or birds land at the feeder. Other times, though, they’re more fraught.

Take, for example, the bear. Neighbors had seen a large bear roaming the area. He’d been found shopping in garage refrigerators and, during one visit, decimated a 50-count box of pudding cups. But we still hadn’t seen him, and I planned to live a long, happy life without any bear visits.

Then one day I heard a strange sound coming from outside. I put my hands to the window to bring the picture into view, and there he was: 450 pounds if he was an ounce. Head the size of a hubcap.

I walked into the family room to find Bob. “Robert,” I said. “You asked about the bear? He’s here.”

We watched the animal sit up and gently pull each bag out of our garbage can. First he found a paint-tray liner, catching some paint on his tongue. Unimpressed, he discarded it noisily. His next discovery, a bucket of chicken bones, seemed more to his liking.

Before long, he rolled to his feet and ambled along. I’m sure he saw us; I’m equally confident he knew there was nothing to fear. If he’d talked to the local snakes, he knew I was a non-issue. Bob was pleased, and I was ready to check “bear” off our list of country-life adventures. Then a cloud passed over Bob’s face. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “He didn’t stay long,” Bob said. “We need to throw out a better grade of garbage.” Fine by me—as long as our guest stays outside.

Q