one mean snake and one curious dog
Tuesday October 20th, 2009
I was five steps and about a dozen thoughts past that rattlesnake before my head got the message from my eyes that said, in big capital letters, “SNAKE!” The funny thing, and the thing that kept me up half the night after, is instead of hightailing it outta there like any thinking girl would do, I turned myself back around to get a closer look. By then that rattler was coiled up tight and I hope you won’t think I’m funnin’ with you when I say he had a downright mean look in his eye.
Well, soon enough here comes Pilot, leading with his nose of course and all sorts of curious. I hollered out “No!” and “Get away!” and “Get back!” and “Go!” and all the while Pilot’s ignoring me and that rattler’s tail’s gettin’ higher and before I know it there’s a sound like a mighty rushing waterfall and it’s that eight-bead tail just sendin’ up the alarm. Pilot’s gettin’ closer and that rattler’s lookin’ meaner and I’m thinkin’ this is it. This is the end.
~
Pilot first came to us by way of the Yolo County Animal Shelter away off toward the big city. We had a television back then, and maybe this is why we don’t no more, cause one Monday mornin’ Aunt Kitty had the news on and cakes on the griddle and here’s this newsman sayin’ how they’re puttin’ down animals left and right at the Yolo County shelter ’cause they just got too darn many of them. Now, I’d only been with Aunt Kitty and Ben for a few months at that time and when I think on it now I think, Whatever happened to the power I had then? Somehow they got me wound off their little fingers, I guess, cause that day it was no more than me asking that had us all piling into the car and driving through three counties to rescue Pilot.
That Pilot (and his name was Button then, of all things!), he put on quite a show, pretendin’ to be all meek and mild-mannered. Ben, he said he reckoned he’d be a decent enough dog, and we drove three counties back home with Pilot seat-belted in beside me.
I made Ben all sorts of promises, of course. I’d train Pilot up real good, and I’d take care of his feed and water. I’d bathe him every day and make sure he got exercised good and regular, and he’d be the best behaved dog this side of the Mississippi. Turns out maybe I should have said this side of Frog Creek, cause mostly he’s the only dog around these parts.
I spent a whole week trying to get that dog to sit and we weren’t gettin’ nowhere ’til I found he had a powerful affection for Fig Newtons. That’s right. I tried bribing him with hot dogs and sausages, bacon and cheddar cheese and he’d just wag and nibble if I gave him a taste. But it wasn’t something he needed, wasn’t something he’d be willing to work for. Then he snuck into Aunt Kitty’s pantry and cleaned out her package of Fig Newtons and while she was busy hollerin’ and wavin’ her broom around I was thinkin’, Hmmmm.
Ten minutes and one Fig Newton was all it took and that dog would sit before I finished sayin’ the word. To this day it’s like he can’t help himself. His face’ll be telling me how very much he does not want to, but if I tell him to sit, almost against his will he does it.
~
So after I was done screaming “Stay!” and all manner of other stuff and Pilot was closin’ in on that rattler real deliberate-like, the word finally came to me and I said it like I meant it more than ever before: “SIT!” And darned if he didn’t.
Oh, that dog gave me the pitifullest look when that rattlesnake hunkered down and hurried off. But he followed me to the kitchen door and I dropped half a dozen Fig Newton’s at his feet and must have said Good Dog more times than he’s heard in his whole life to date.
Darned if there wasn’t too much scare to be used up in that three minutes though, and I’ve spent the better part of two days still carrying that scare with me.
