Farm Fresh Blog

I stood in the road with my gun drawn and yelled at him, "This is why I can't wear pretty sandals to church!"

The dusty boots on my feet gave an apologetic shrug.  I stepped out of the fired bullet casings that were scattered in the dirt, climbed back into the truck, and turned the key off. Without the roar of the diesel engine the forest stood in silence, waiting to see what I'd do next.

When I retired from police work, I thought I could actually be normal, but like an ill-fitting coat, normal just doesn't hang well on me. We moved to a beautiful ranching community, joined a traditional country church, and thought we'd slide into the roles of normal people. Be just like everyone else. Who was I kidding? Here I was supposed to be on my way to choir practice at the church, but instead I was standing in the road like Matt Dillon, waiting for my Other Half to bring me another gun.

There were more bullets in the gun I had, but it's a good rule of thumb to never empty your last gun. So instead I snatched up the phone, gave thanks that there was cell reception in this part of the dirt road driveway, and called the husband.

"I need you to bring me The Judge! I've got a rattlesnake in the road by the main gate."

"How big is he?"

"How big does he HAVE to be? It's a rattlesnake! He's small. About the size of a copperhead. I shot at him but he was moving so fast that I don't know if I hit him. He stopped in the weeds. Right now he and I are just looking at each other."

"Okay, on the way."

The Judge is a revolver that shoots .410 shotgun shells, thus greatly increasing your chances of hitting the target. It's tough to hit a fleeing snake with the .380 I had in my hand. Snakes tend to do that whole serpentine thing really quickly, because, well, you're shooting at them. Bullets whizzing into the ground tend to speed up a snake, but this one had reached the safety of the weeds and stopped. I quit shooting because I lost sight of him. So there I was, in my dusty boots, standing by the weeds, looking for a snake. Rattlesnakes take that camouflage thing to a whole new level. You can be shooting at one that's running across a gravel road and the minute he reaches the weeds it's like he activates a cloaking device and poof!

He's gone.

Except that he isn't.

And you're standing in the tall weeds with a rattlesnake. That you can't see.

I finally located the black and white stripes on his tail and worked my way up to the whole snake. He was looking at me. Trying to decide whether or not to fight or run for it. I backed up into the roadway and waited. If he tried to run then I could take the chance and waste bullets but otherwise, it was easier to wait for The Judge.

While waiting I texted the pastor:

"Running late to choir practice. Killing a rattlesnake."

Even as I typed the words, the irony struck me. Nope. Still not normal. Normal people drive past rattlesnakes. They do not stop the truck and do battle. If they happen to shoot and miss, they certainly do not follow said snake into the brush and call for reinforcements. And if they do the above, they definitely do not advertise their special brand of crazy by texting the pastor.

But I was gonna late. And I'd just joined the choir. Being late might give people the impression that I didn't care. And these people don't yet know I'm crazy. They think I'm normal. On the other hand, after that text, I'd say they figured it out.

So I stood in the road in sturdy boots instead of sandals because running into poisonous snakes at the gate was not a new thing for me. You can be fashionable or you can be prepared, but you cannot be both.

A low hum in the distance assured me the wait was over. The gravel crunched beneath his tires as Other Half rolled to a stop and carefully stepped out of the mule. Since possession is 9/10ths of the law, and he had the gun in his hand, there wasn't much argument about who got to shoot the rattlesnake. We've killed 14 copperheads by the house this summer. There are plenty of snakes to go around.

One dose of .410 shotgun shell and the rattlesnake had moved on to a greener patch of weeds. I kissed my Snake Soldier on the cheek, climbed back in the truck, and continued my journey towards normal. I will never arrive there, but it's a nice illusion.