He would have been a gonner had we not helped out.
Despite the strangelike warm November weather (as if we can’t progress to winter with an unresolved election), it is rare to see a snake out and about. This one was sluggish, resting still on the gravel driveway. A tiny thing — an nine inch common garter snake (thamnophis sirtalis), his brown checked pattern curiously much more pronounced than his stripe. His presence was unconcerning for us but rather perilous for him — Amy would be leaving with C.F.M.D. in a few minutes, and the snake rested squarely in the tirepath.
Me: You know how we’ve discussed that one shouldn’t pick up snakes?
C.F.M.D. nods
Me: I’m going to pick this guy up and move him now. Ok?
C.F.M.D.: Ok.
C.F.M.D. watched closely as I took the snake in my fingers with only mild protest. I laid him in some leaves at the edge of the woods, and he quickly made use of his coloration to disappear. All things being equal — he should survive the winter and eat plenty of bugs in the spring.
And yes, I do recall the time when I was a kid and picked up a baby speckled kingsnake — and how he bit my finger and latched on and wouldn’t let go. It was uncomfortable, true, but it didn’t hurt much — more important was the fascination and unlikely bond as he hung on, dangling there as the minutes slipped by. At a point he released me and slid away, his work seemingly done.
Suddenly time is not quite so linear…