As I was putting away the groceries from my mid-afternoon Costco run (and Kelly was putting away the shoes she'd managed to score. SCORE! at Payless in their BOGO sale), Ken called me back out to the driveway.
"Oh, Kem.... muh...." he called, in a little sing-song voice. "You want to come out here Right Now."
Uh oh. Did I forget to do something?
But no. He wanted to make sure I didn't miss this:
Egads! And I was wearing my faux-birks! Hello, baby toes, tasty little niblets for the rattler to sink his fangs into.
And for something that's barely 15 inches long, it sure invoked the fear reflex in me. I took dozens of photos, but most of them are not in focus, because I was so FREAKED OUT.
Alas, baby rattlesnakes cannot take up residence in our residence. Our kids flap around in flip-flops, and do cartwheels without looking where they put their hands. Fang Junior picked a bad place to come knocking on the neighbour's door.
Ken dispatched it swiftly with a big stick and a shovel.
And then, even with the head gone, the rest of the snake kept slithering around, coiling and uncoiling.
Much as the kids would LOVE to have a reptile pet, this is NOT a sanctioned choice.
Too bad this fence lizard seems to have died of fright after seeing the rattlesnake slither past.
He would've been a very fine pet for the kids. Maybe I'll go out and get some crickets to feed the local lizard population as a special treat tomorrow.