Assault Stick

You know, I am a live-and-let-live kind of guy.  This applies even to snakes.  I cut a lot of grass, brush, weeds, and undergrowth every summer in part to discourage snakes from exposing themselves to my potential wrath.  I do, however, have a couple of hillsides that are just ideal for copperheads, and about once a year, I will have an encounter with one. 

Last year it happened as I was knocking down some sumac with the tractor and mower.  A copperhead slithered across the path in front of me and held up over in the leaves and taller grass thinking, I suppose -- if snakes think -- that it was no longer visible.  It wouldn't have been if I hadn't followed its movement.  As I didn't have anything longer than a pair of Vise-Grips on the tractor with me -- a rare occurrence.  I got down and used the saw blade on my Leatherman Wave to cut a hickory limb which effectively dispatched the reptile to the bosom of its ancestors.  If only it were so easy to get rid of other species -- like politicians.

This year, having recently moved my dog to her garden-guarding location, I was finishing up with some work late one evening when she began to bark.  The neighbor's dog had been running rabbits down in the holler, and I thought maybe my dog had caught sight of that one.  It was the way she sounded.  It was too dark by then for me to see much.  I decided she might want some food and fresh, cold water as it had been a hot day.  I went to fetch that and grabbed one of my flashlights on the way.  After dumping her food in the pan, something caused me to turn my light a little further to the side.   A fat copperhead, probably 16 or 18 inches long was headed toward the dog house. 

I yelped involuntarily, set my water bucket down, and looked around for something that wouldn't require my becoming excessively familiar with the creature.  I have a cinder block enclosure were we keep trash barrels and such in that area.  There I found a nice little two-and-a-half to three-foot stick and applied it vigorously to the invader's head while holding back my dog -- who suddenly decided I was desperate for help -- with my flashlight hand.  Adrenaline. 

I really don't think a snake could get through to skin when the dog's part-Chow undercoat is in place, but most of that is shed by now, and I had just given her a bath a couple of days prior.  Anyway, I didn't want to encourage her to try one on her own.  I flipped the former snake -- no doubt pining if not for the fjords perhaps for Yggdrasil and certainly regretful of its rash venture -- well off into the brush out of the dog's reach, and put my multipurpose assault stick back in its place.  Maybe we'll have another 12-month truce.