Snakes, snakes, snakes, snakes.

The tone of her voice wasn’t a quite a shriek, but there was definitely a panic like edge to the tone.

“Do you know what was on the deck today? A snake, a serpent was on my deck right in front of the sliding glass door for the living room.”

And so the saga of the spring time Rat snakes began.

For weeks the phone calls bounced between the antics of the snake or snakes that had taken up residence upon or under Marmy and Daddy’s deck and the biddy baby birds that were beginning to hatch also in residence on the deck and the pergola covering said deck.

When I’d tried to point out that birds, especially supple, delectable baby birds bring snakes, that fact didn’t really seem to register or if it did, it didn’t matter.



Of course living in the marshy, humid, sub-tropical climate of eastern North Carolina doesn’t help the snake situation either. The swamps and marshes of the down east empire present a Valhalla for reptiles. The bird, snake situation is further exacerbated by my Marmy, who makes a habit of feeding the birds every other day, so her yard is a veritable Audubon spectacle of avian busyness.

Is it no wonder that word spreads throughout the reptilian community that there is a birdie buffet on East City Road.



Such was the lead up to my Memorial day break at the house on East City Road 2010.

My first morning there was spent in cautious trepidation. As we sat on the deck, looking at the water, watching all of the birds, talking and drinking coffee; I kept one eye peeled for snakes. I inherited Marmy’s phobia of snakes, or so I thought.

The morning passed quietly and peacefully with no serpentine interlopers. Marmy, Daddy and I retired to the kitchen to make our lunch and whilst inside the decision was taken that we’d nosh while sitting upon the deck.

My food was prepared first and as I exited the house through the sliding glass door something liquid like started pouring down the left front post of the pergola.

It smelled rancid and in an instant I saw a huge snake on top of the pergola and it was voiding itself of mostly digested baby birds. Oh you vile cur, you horrible creature, I thought.

“Snake,” I announced.

Marmy was right behind me and in peering over my shoulder she quickly determined what the snake was doing.

“Where? Oh, gross…oh goodness…oh Larry, there is a snake on top of the pergola. Michael don’t go out there. Oh Larry it is crapping all over the place, ew, gross, oh how horrible, oh ew.”

By this time I’d put my sandwich down and had grabbed a broom and made my way to the deck. Daddy was right behind me with one of his canes and we attempted to get the snake off the lattice on top of the pergola. The problem was that the snake was HUGELY bloated in its middle after having feasted on some biddy baby Mockingbirds and eggs. Thus, we couldn’t get the hugely engorged serpent through the holes in the lattice. We had to bat at it with the broom and cane hoping to dislodge it.

My mother gave a running commentary at full speed while we worked to remove the snake.

After what seemed like an eternity the snake fell to the ground. Maybe it jumped, the poor thing was most likely weary of being hit with a broom and poked with a cane and perhaps weary too of my Marmy’s vocal antics.

While daddy and I were torturing the snake, Marmy’s running commentary went something like this…

”Oh gross, ew, Larry, oh yuck, oh it crapped all over the deck, oh God, Larry oh Michael, there is crap all over the post and the lattice and the rail. Oh gross, ew, oh yuck, kill it, oh careful, kill it, kill it. Don’t step in it, careful, don’t step in it you’ll fall, you’ll track it all over the place. Oh, gross, ew, kill it, kill it…KILL IT.”

You get it?

So the snake finally fell or jumped to the ground and decided that there was most likely safety under the deck, away from the maniacs with a broom, cane and anxiety filled running commentary.

I don’t know why, but I took off after the snake, my phobia all but slithered away.

The commentary continued, “Michael, you don’t have shoes on, Michael come out, oh gross, Larry he’s under the deck with the snake. Michael it’s going to bite you, oh Larry make him come out. Larry make him stop. Michael come out. Larry make him.”

Daddy ended the diatribe with the command to Marmy, “Go get my gun.”

“Which one?”

“The rifle.”

“Where is it?”

“In the case.”

All of my dad’s guns are always in the safe, locked up and well…safe.

Maybe it was the drama of the moment, but Marmy asked, “Where’s the key.”

At moments like this my Daddy gets such a wonderful wounded look. I didn’t see it but I sensed it because I was still under the deck with a broom and the snake. Marmy disappeared to get the rifle and I managed to get the snake onto the lawn.

“Here Larry, here’s the gun, Michael get back. Larry shoot it, oh gross, oh God, Larry kill it. Kill it, kill it, shoot it Larry.”

Marmy was clearly undone.

At this moment I had the oddest thought and I said, “Daddy either shoot the snake or shoot her. One way or another we have to shut her up and calm her down, if we don't she's going to have a stroke.”

Daddy pointed the gun at the snake and said, “She’s a pretty good cook, so good bye snake.”

Daddy aimed and with one shot, the snake was dispatched. Daddy is a great marksman.

That done, we went inside to eat our lunch, we cleaned up the mess on the deck after we ate....inside the house. The snake carcass was gone by coffee time, it was most likely taken away by a large bird of prey or a Turkey vulture or perhaps a fox.



The next day, after church there was another snake on the deck, most likely the mate of the now dead deck defiler, we however didn’t kill the new snake. We stunned it, dropped it into a five gallon bucket, and Marmy and I took it to the park and released it. All three of us felt guilty and sad after killing the first snake. They are vital and have their place but better to shoot the snake than shoot Marmy.