* The following is a reprint of one of my past Riding Drag columns. Today I am dedicating it to my wonderful Cowgirl Poet Pals Linda Kirkpartick and Virginia Bennett.
Snakes in My Décolletage
When it’s cold I dress in the
height of rural western fashion Carhartt® insulated overalls and coat. Though
my insulated underwear beneath might not match, I am totally coordinated in tan
canvas as I make my way to the barn through mud and ice. As I go about the
morning feeding of horses, cattle, goat, cats and dogs I consider myself
fortunate to be living my life as a ranch woman.
I try to do my chores
efficiently, using as few steps as possible and wasting little time. To save
trips back to the barn I leave the shoulder straps of my overalls loose,
forming a chest pocket into which I stick supplements, tools, etc. as I go
about feeding the mares nearest the barn.
This morning I walked into
the feed room, reached up and pulled down a square bale of hay. Stretching
higher up for a second bale I pulled it towards me, tilting it against my chest
for balance. It was early morning and it was dark...but not so dark that I
couldn’t see the snake on the other end of the bale. I started to step back to
allow the bale to just fall when my legs encountered the previously dumped
bale. I sat down with the second bale square against my chest. As the snake
slid forward, I swear to you, not since Eve in the Garden had a snake smiled in
such a mischievous way.
I am not afraid of snakes. I
have a healthy respect for them; especially when I have a hoe or shovel in my
hands. As I pushed the bale away the snake slid tail first into the
"pocket" of my overalls. At this point I would like to tell you that
I was calm and used lady-like language; however, that would be a bold-faced
lie. Falling off the first bale onto my back I had a sudden flash of what it
must be like to be a turtle. Thick, insulated clothes make it very hard for
short, round women to get back up once they are in a prone position. Grabbing
the wire of the bale, I managed to turn myself over and get to my feet. Once
standing I began "the zipper dance". You know the steps...pull, tug,
pull, stomp, pull, pull, pull!
I made my way out of the feed
room and into the corral. Gathering my wits, I grasped the top of the zipper
and the tongue and moved the zipper on the front of my overalls about halfway
down. Unfortunately, this also loosened them at the waist and instead of
falling out as I had hoped; Mr. Snake proceeded down into the left leg of the
overalls, which fit me just snug enough that I could feel his every movement.
Hope springs eternal when you are in a desperate situation; I figured he would
go on down and would simply fall out the bottom of the leg of his insulated
prison. That, was entirely too optimistic on my part. It was wet and muddy and
I had pulled on my big rubber boots, with the bottoms of my overalls securely
tucked inside.
As I danced about, my
daughter came around the corner of the barn. Throwing myself onto my back in
the muck of the corral I shouted, "Quick, peel me out of these
overalls! Snake! Snake! Snake!" Kicking and struggling with the
side zipper on the leg, I awaited her help; but she was nowhere to be seen! The
mental image of a turtle on its back once again invaded my mind. As I screamed
her name I saw her coming from the barn with a hoe and looking at the ground.
"Where, Mom? Where?!" she kept asking.
"IN MY OVERALLS! GET
ME OUT OF THESE!"
Grasping my boots she tossed
them aside and began to tug at my overalls, which were still secured by their
straps over my shoulders…inside my coat. I was grappling with the coat while my
daughter dragged me around the muddy corral. I had the sudden realization that
I was a turtle on its back and had the irrational thought "What
would a turtle do?" (However, pulling my head in and ignoring the
situation was not an option at this point.)
"COAT!" I screamed, "OFF!" Fortunately my
daughter speaks fluent screech and was able to translate my cries into
directions. Sitting me up, she jerked my coat off and returned to tugging at
the legs of my overalls. With one industrious yank they came off and as they
flew into the air, so did the snake.
I love old Roadrunner and
Coyote cartoons, especially when impending disaster is played out in slow
motion. This is the first time in my life that real time took on all the
qualities of that poor Coyote having a boulder fall off a cliff onto him. The
snake flew up, went into a stall, hung momentarily (still smiling, I assure
you), curled into position, straightened out like an Olympic diver and
propelled himself straight onto my stomach! My daughter, also in slow motion,
watched the snake go up and down and made one comment, "Duh-ang!"
Rolling to one side I dumped
the snake into the mud, grasped a panel, scrambled to my feet and grabbed the
hoe. I would like to tell you again that I was very lady-like and magnanimous
and that I allowed Mr. Snake to make his escape unscathed. This also, would be
a lie. I do believe however, that when Mr. Snake got to reptile heaven he told
the gatekeeper that he was dispatched from earth by a United States Marine Corp
drill instructor wearing muddy long johns and socks wielding a sharp hoe like a
machete. I will admit I may have over-reacted a teeny bit, as Mr. Snake vaguely
resembled stir-fry when I was done.
My husband made it in from
his latest job in the Gulf and went out to do the evening feeding. I had not
related the day’s events to him as I was in the shower for the second time that
day. (More mud, a skittish bottle calf, you get the picture.) Fortunately for
me, my daughter was with a friend and had not regaled her father with her
version. (Which differs slightly from mine…I did not pummel the snake with my
fists nor did I shout, "This is for women everywhere!" Not that I
recall anyway.)
As my husband came back into
the house I heard him ask, "Who killed my snake?"
"What do you mean by my
snake, Cowboy?" I asked in that unnerving controlled "mommy"
voice that children and husbands fear.
Silence from the hall.
"You knew, it was
there?" I asked. "And you didn’t kill it?"
"Well, it eats mice and
it never causes any trouble."
Wrong answer.
"It slid off a bale and into my overalls."
More silence.
"I think I’ll go back
out and spend a little time in the barn before supper" he said as he
retreated outdoors. Smart man.
There were lessons learned
from this incident. I learned that children do listen to what we say. My daughter
made me put seven dollars in the swear word fine jar for what she heard and
told the whole county that her mother can kill a snake with lightning speed
once it is outside her clothes. I learned that it doesn’t matter if your
long-john tops and bottoms match as mud co-ordinates everything into barnyard
brown. I learned that my husband is pretty savvy when it comes to knowing when
to make a quiet exit. I also learned not to repeat this story to friends or Jon
will write a song about it.
The snake learned a valuable lesson too…Turtles, are
tougher than they look.
*The snake mentioned in this
true story is a non-poisonous barn snake that survives on rodents and small
mammals and birds.
***
"Ride Hard, Laugh Often, Live Free!"
Debra Coppinger Hill
***
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