Your Ass is Grass

One of the items on my to-do list yesterday was cut the grass. My dog, Louis, was in the backyard, so I went out to get him to put him in his cage while I did that chore. And so the chase began.

Once he saw me he thought it was time to play. He went back and forth and ran circles around me while I stood there calling to him. Considering I didn’t have much time to play, I started to go after him but something I noticed made me stop dead in my tracks: a snake. (insert Jaws theme here)

After I was able to fit my eyeballs back into their sockets, I wondered how was I going to get Louis’ attention without causing harm to him or me. Not knowing if snakes are able to hear or if they only react to movement, I stood like a statue and began whispering, “Louieeeee, come here boy.” That didn’t work. Either snakes can hear or that snake’s name happened to be Louis, as well, because it began to slither in my direction.

Quickly executing an about face that led into an all-out run, I headed to the house. Continuously shouting at Louis - as if I were Chief Brody who just spotted the fin going under an inflatable raft - to Get Out of the Yard! Finally, he came to me and I quickly shut the sliding door.

Although we were safe for the moment, there was still a snake in the yard and I had to figure out what to do. I decided to look up the breed of snake on the Internet and discovered it was only a garter. But it was bigger than your average, garden-variety garter snake and even though it wasn’t poisonous, I was still a little concerned. I hate snakes. I hate snakes, frogs, lizards, or anything of the scaly brand.

On a side note, why is it called a garter snake? Did Wilma or Betty use these creatures to hold up their stockings or something?

Anyway, I then did what any sensible housewife would do. I called my husband at work.

Me: “Honey, there’s a snake in the yard.”
Him: “What kind?”
Me: “Garter.”
Him: “Oh, it’s harmless, it eats rodents, leave it alone. It won’t hurt you.”
Me: click.

(That coming from a guy who stopped, dropped, and rolled at the close-up visit from a honeybee...but that's another story.)

The grass still needed to be cut and the sky was getting cloudier by the second. I then took a deep breath and decided to behave like a normal human being and continue with my chores.

My plan was to mow the lawn in an up and down pattern as to always keep it at my side and hopefully flush it out - preferably into the neighbor’s yard. As I walked behind the mower, I kept the grass under a scrutiny that would’ve made a homicide detective proud; about midway across the grass I saw it again.

As panic started to set in, it suddenly dawned on me that I had the upper hand. I had a weapon at my disposal. I had a self-propelled Troy-Bilt!

I braced myself, and by that I mean, grimaced, cursed and danced around until I finally had the nerve to do what I had to do - push that mower right over him.

Smile, you son-of-a -- THWACK!!! (more screams) SPLAT!! (more cursing) Blood shot out. EEEWWW. It was a thick feeling mixed with a grotesque sound as it impersonated a lemon-twist around the machine. I was yelling, dancing, and doing Olympic gymnast moves on the handle to avoid anything that might have survived the blades of death.

Trying to regain composure, I continued to mow as if everything were normal. Coming back up the path, I saw some remnants and decided to pass over it one more time for good measure. Mulched - completely disintegrated.

Shortly after I finished I sat on the patio with a glass of wine and Louis at my side, satisfied with the knowledge that I made my yard safe once again - all without having to pay Quint 10,000 dollars to do it.

Next on the list: dinner menu.