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Four rattlesnakes on the property in two weeks. Three of them within 12 feet of the front door. Today’s had wedged itself into the space between the house siding and the front steps, so it was at the front door but, technically, also two feet down.

In some ways it seems like I’m splitting hairs to point out that the snake was two feet away when it was directly below the doorway … and normally I would love to jump on the drama of the snake being at the front door … but since we’re talking about a poisonous rattlesnake, I think two feet away from where your feet are and wedged into a pretty tight spot is very significant.

Not quite a mile away, but it was a lifesaver.

John and Cooper walked out onto the landing, heard the snake, and launched into a clear space to reconnoiter. John figured out what was going on and opened the front door to tell me about the snake (unnecessarily at this point because —WTF?! — I could hear it buzzing) and enlist some help. Cooper wanted nothing to do with the front steps at this point, so he was let into the little shop to find a happy place in the nether regions of that clutter. John and I used a broom handle and an aluminum rod, that he produced from who knows where, to herd the snake from its hidey hole, so I could kill it with the weed whacker. (Which is, apparently, my snake-killing weapon of choice since we didn’t put a shovel by the front door until after this latest snake.)

I hate to kill things. I really do. I would have to be pretty hungry before I would kill animals even to feed myself. But somehow killing a rattlesnake that is virtually at my front door doesn’t bother me so much.

Nope. This is the real rub: We have all these frickin’ rattlesnakes here AT the house, and I’m still getting mice?!

Lazy bastards at pam[at]viewfromthenorth40.com