A quiet Sunday afternoon. I am reading a gripping murder mystery outside in the lawn chair. The solution to the crime is being solved and I follow with deep attention. I may have figured out the plot and fingered the murderer! Just a few more pages will tell me if my idea is right. Suddenly a shout comes from our neighbors.
“Get him!” the young man shoots a hose at the brick wall of his house in response to the call from his friend. I head over to the fence between us. The two are focused on something and pay no attention to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, and learn that a large black snake is crawling up the side of the house. My question is already answered, as I watch the scaly creature make its way toward the roof. I remember my own history of snakes: snakes in our bar, under our beds, in our cellars, watching us from the back windows . . . my friend the little snake in a large jar who lived for a few days. . . snakes have mixed personalities, from friendly to deadly. I love to watch them displayed in museums and zoos but not in back yards.
The next-door neighbor snake was not interested in me but in what might be available for dinner in the woodsy back yards of our area. I had a special interest in the snake because of my special gift: that of snake whisperer. The difficult part for me now is what to say to the snake.