Once upon a time, we lived in an old wooden house in Missouri---my mother, my father and I---and several mice in the attic. Periodically, Mother would set wooden spring-traps, baited with hunks of cheese, in order to catch the uninvited guests.
The mice were usually agile enough to grab the cheese before the traps sprung into action catching their tails. So sitting downstairs, we would hear the overhead, “thump, thump, thump” of mice dragging their traps behind them.
Dad’s job was to go to the attic and dispose of the critters. Reluctantly, he’d go upstairs and the thumping would stop. Then, he’d come downstairs, step outside the house and release the mice, so they could scamper off suffering no worse than hurt egos and very sore tails.
My father couldn’t kill anything. He taught me to cover roaches and beetles with a drinking glass, slide a piece of paper under the glass, and then throw the bugs outside. My aunt told me that when he was a boy, he’d pull flies off of sticky fly paper, so they could fly away to carry on with whatever nasty business flies achieve.
When I was five years old, he saw me stepping on ants, and gently chided, “Even ants have a purpose. You are disrupting the balance of nature.” I never forgot this lesson. Consequently, when I recently opened my garage door and discovered a big rattlesnake sunning itself on my driveway, I thought of Dad. No way could I run over it and mess up my driveway. It didn’t want to move, so I stamped my feet thinking that the vibration would make it slither away. Sure enough, it disappeared into the ivy lining my driveway.
I called the fire department snake removal division and the dispatcher told me to keep my distance from the snake, which I did. Forty-five minutes later a big red fire truck and baby fire man arrived. I don’t think they send the A-team for snake removal. He said, “Did you keep an eye on it?” “No,” I replied, “Dispatch told me to stay away, but the last time I saw it, it slithered into the ivy.” “Can’t get it in there,” was his reply. “I’ll come back when you see it out in the open.”
So, next time the snake decides to show himself, I will cajole, “Hello, Snake!” Just stay there for forty-five minutes until the fireman returns.” Dad would be proud of me!
Esther Blumenfeld (“The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” Steven Wright)