This is not the first time I've encountered a copperhead. One time we were driving back from piano lessons, and my kids were arguing in the back seat. So I pulled the car over, got them out even though they were bare foot, and talked to them by the side of the car.
As I talked, an older man pulled up in a truck next to us. As he rolled down his window, I assumed he thought I might need help, so I nodded my head and said, "We're o.k., thank you."
"Oh no, I'm here for that thing," he said, pointing and shaking his head. In the middle of the road, maybe 15 feet away, was a huge copperhead, curled up into a tight circle.
He climbed out of his truck with a shovel and hesitantly walked over toward the snake. In the meantime, I've told my kids to get back into the car. Within, I could feel a giant, angry, protective mother bear awaken. I watched as the man hesitated and then took a few steps back toward me. "I admit," he said, "I'm just really afraid of these things."
Mama bear took over. "Give me that shovel," I growled.
Surely and swiftly, I walked over, lifted the shovel, and with three strokes chopped off the snake's head.
I can't decide if I'm proud of that story or not. It really seems like I can't take credit for the natural instinct to protect my children.
So back to the baby snake story. After we saw the snake, we decided to turn around and walk home. Worried about other walkers--the snake was really hard to see on the side of the road--I grabbed a shovel and drove back to kill the snake.
After some considerable effort to find him again, I first took a picture, and then chopped his head off with the shovel.
This time I was a little more proud of myself, until I got closer. Here's the snake:
You might not be able to see, but when I chopped the snake's head off, no blood came out. In fact, a puff of powder blew into the air. As I got closer, I saw tiny ants carrying out their decomposition duty. I had killed a dead snake.
Just call me The Snake Slayer.
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