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Saturday, September 5, 2015


            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.

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