Mr. Snake

I'm not very tough.  I'll be the first to admit it.

And there are two things that I just really DO.  NOT.  LIKE.

Fiddleback spiders.  Public enemy No.1.  Death to them all.

Why, God?  Why???  Why would you in your infinite wisdom create such a monster???

That will be the first question on my lips when I reach the pearly gates.  Where I am certain that there are no Fiddleback spiders.

No. 2.  Snakes.  Not all snakes, just the bitey ones.  And even the bitey ones can live, just stay away from my young.  Or I will chop off your head with a shovel.  Okay, not really.  I will run away screaming.  But then I will send my husband out to chop off it's head with a shovel.  Not my dad, though.  He would just laugh at me and say, "Snakes gotta eat too!  You leave him alone, he'll leave you alone."  He's weird like that.  My dad once had a pet rattlesnake named Max.  When our second son was born, the first question my dad asked me was, "Did you name the baby after my old pet rattlesnake?"  No, Dad.  No I did not.  I think he was a little disappointed.  Really.  What man wouldn't want a grandson named after a pet rattlesnake, right?

But I digress.

So as it turns out, There is really only one thing that I hate, fiddleback spiders.  Snakes can stay.  Which is handy, because Lucas made a new friend the other day.

May I introduce, Mr. Snake.

Lucas was on cloud nine about this tiny baby snake he found in the kiddie pool.  I cannot believe that he actually picked it up.  But I guess that it's diminutive size made it seem harmless, witch I suppose it was.  Seriously though, this is the same kid that runs screaming with his arms over his head from a housefly.  Houseflies completely freak him out.  He comes unhinged.

But I digress.

"It's Mr. Snake!  It's Mr. Snake!"  He shouted with glee, running around the backyard with Max on his heels.

"Wet me howd Mr. Snake, Bwudda!  Wet me howd im!"  Max was pretty excited too.

They would then put Mr. Snake gently in a bucket (and by gently I mean dropping him unceremoniously and without an ounce of tenderness), and walk around the yard proudly with each boy holding the handle.

Poor Mr. Snake.  I felt really sorry for him.  It was probably the worst day in his tiny little baby snake life.  Unless he's been eaten by a bird since then, in which case the bird eating day would probably eclipse the two jubilent little boys day...  maybe.  Mr. Snake was getting some pretty tough love.

Then Mr. Snake was placed gingerly (yah.  gingerly.) in a toy car and left to drive home to his family.  Which he did as quickly as he could slither into the grass.

At least Lucas didn't try to bring him into the house to cuddle with on the couch like he does with the frogs.

Have I ever mentioned that I truly love having boys?

I do.

Little sweeties swinging a bucket of snake make me smile.