Today Fire Ant and Bullsnake brought their message my way.
Fire Ant lives in the cracks in my flagstone walk way. A new home for Fire Ant this spring. One i tried early in the coolness to dissuade them from. But they decisively planted themselves about 10 feet from my door. I walk carefully in this area. Trying not to step on the busy moving red bodies as they carry treasure into their earthen homes. This is the dance we do with one another each year. I have learned that if i stand too long near Fire Ants, they will crawl up pant legs and I only discover this once the fire begins burning in my body. The blaze from their bite.
Today one traveled with me miles from home via car only to announce itself as I walked into the office. A familiar spreading pain and burning lightening flashing its way up and down my arm. Fire ant was quickly escorted outside and relocated.
On the way home Bullsnake (Pituophis catenifer sayi ) lay curled on the warm pavement by the creek. I swerved around her, pulled to the side of the road and walked back to persuade her to find another tanning spot. The one she had chosen most certainly was more dangerous than she was aware of, what with fast moving cars and humans with their fear of snakes. Knowing she is not dangerous (non-venomous and really gentle and docile in nature) I acquired a short but strong stick and proceeded to encourage her to choose another location. She was having non of it.
As I attempted to lift her 2 1/2 feet length, she hunkered down and tightened her powerful muscles, clearly indicating that she was not interested in moving. She watched me. I spoke, asking her to please move to the side of the road so that she would not be flattened by the next car rushing home form work, or the one after that. She yawned and stayed.
I have never encountered this before. In the past Bullsnake has shown that she is annoyed by my interference by raising herself up and shouting open mouthed, then turning and moving away. This time she refused. Her sunbath must have been especially pleasing, or perhaps it was a siesta just after eating a lovely snack. She was slow and clear about her intention, which was to remain where she was.
So I gave up on the stick, and talked my way through what I was attempting to do. "May I slide my hand underneath you", I asked? (What was I thinking, I am as terrified of real live snakes as the next person. I like the idea of them, but egad, touch one? Ummmm... why?) "I'd like to move you to a safer location." She eyed me. I moved toward her, slipped my hand under her weight and almost fainted with a fear I can't really tie to anything concrete.
She was smooth and tense against my fingertips, like the underside of Turtle, but with muscles that almost gripped me.Heavy. Ochre underside. I watched her head, knowing she could be lightening fast if she chose. Wondered why she moved so slowly. She seemed 1/2 asleep. Still. Sedate. Powerful. Slow to respond. She lifted her head again and opened her mouth. I didn't know if she was saying, "sure, OK" or "back off." But she didn't move toward me. Only watched.
So I lifted her. With all the nerves jumping inside of my belly, I walked slowly to the side of the road. Laid her in the sand and grass. She turned, again gaping mouth, not a tooth in site, jaws dislocating and relocating, watching me.
Was she thanking me for the care and effort or annoyed that I had disturbed her day?
Where is the place where wild-life and domesticated humans meet?
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