Blood makes the grass grow...kill, kill!

I hate snakes! Yes, I know there are very few people out there who have a different opinion on that issue, but I really, really, really hate them!

With that information in hand, you can imagine my reaction to the near-death run-in I had today (okay, it really wasn't that bad, but in my mind it was). The Husband, The Wee One, and I had been on a little walk, and as we returned to the house, he went around back while The Wee One and I went inside. I took my shoes off and then noticed The Wee One's nose was running. Her tissues were outside on the stroller, so with her in my arms, I opened the door...

I lifted my bare foot...

I started to lower my bare foot...

I saw the snake directly under my bare foot...and quickly ran back into the house.

My fear of snakes is just not something I can get over. I can tell myself as many times as I want that they are more afraid of me that I am of them, but when I see a snake I freak out! So I turned to my best defense - The Husband. While holding The Wee One, I ran to the kitchen and yelled out the window to the backyard..."SNAKE!" "SNAKE!". I should mention that in my panic, the fact that the window was closed managed to escape my attention. Poor man. He looked up at me, but couldn't figure out what the heck I was saying. I'm sure he thought something had happened to The Wee One since I was holding her and jumping around like a freakin' monkey on crack.

He comes running to my rescue and once he finds out what I'm freaking out over, he calmly goes to the front door (which I left open like an idiot) to check things out. He tells me that creature that has turned my insides to jumping beans is officially a rattlesnake. Lovely. I will admit that it was little - about 3-4 inches long - and moving slow, but it's still freaky.

The Husband goes to get a killing device - a garden hoe - while I moved to a safe location on top of the step stool, with The Wee One. He proceeds to chop the head off the beast that has terrorized my life, and remove it to the dumpster. He is truly my hero! Upon returning, he patrolled the outside of the house, checking for any other snakes or signs of snakes. Nothing.

While that makes me mildly more comfortable, I am still freaked out and have already ordered liquid snake repellent. I know that it does not work 100%, but I have been told that it does work somewhat. The next step is to get the kayak off the ground, but other than that, the house is in a good snake-free state. Thinking I might start feeding the cat that keeps checking out our garden...every safety precaution helps - at least in my mind.

Part of my snake-phobia has always been there. I don't know what it is, but I have an involuntary reaction of running like the wind whenever I see one. Even dead ones can make me run. Nothing can make you feel so wimpy as running in circles in a parking lot after seeing a dead snake. Anyway, I actually have a true-life reason for my phobia.

The Husband was bitten by a copperhead a few years back. To be fair to the snake, it was The Husband's fault. For some reason, he felt he needed to get something out of his outdoor box at 11:30 at night...in his flip-flops...without a head lamp. Therefore, he stepped on the snake and was bitten. Here's the kicker...I got to be the hero that time.

I was sitting inside and I heard a horrible yell. The Husband came running in, jumping around, with blood on his foot. I moved like lightening...first to stand on the futon and then after realizing he needed help, to find a bandage to put on the bleeding foot. Within minutes, we had the foot wrapped lightly and head lamps on our heads shinning brightly. We ran to the Jeep and I drove like a mad-woman the 25 miles to the hospital. The road was a windy, two-lane road in the middle of a national forest (therefore, surrounded by trees). For the first few minutes, The Husband was totally lucid and calm enough to find this somewhat funny. He started calling his brothers and friends to tell them he just gotten bitten by a snake.

Then all of the sudden, he got quiet. I looked at him and he had slumped over, almost passed out. So while driving over the speed-limit, on this windy, dark, tree-lined, two lane road, I started screaming at him and slapping his face. He woke up, but was groggy so I tried talking to him. It quickly progressed from a conversation to a question/answer session. I was asking him simple things like "What's your mom's name?", but he was having a hard time processing almost anything. I finally got him to repeat the alphabet over and over till we got to the hospital. By the time we actually pulled up, I was having to remind him what the next letter was through about half the alphabet. I was outwardly totally under control, but inwardly losing it! Once we got to the hospital, all was well. He got sick about 30 minutes after we got there and then was just exhausted for a long time. They kept him over night in the ICU to monitor him (they don't give the anti-venom unless you really need it). The next day he was released with a swollen foot, but that was all. Thank God!

About all I can say for my heroism this time is that I didn't drop The Wee One when I saw the snake. Go me!