Snake Story Becky moved off of the porch slowly, backing through the door and into the house. She slammed the sliding glass door shut and stood for a moment, relieved to have something solid between her and the snake on the porch.

The glass was cool under her hands despite her pounding heart. She tried to slow her breathing. She was safe, at last, inside. Or was she? How had that snake gotten into the screened-in and walled-up back porch. If it could get in there, it's possible it could get inside where she was as well.

Becky wasn't someone who was normally skittish about wild things. She'd handled snakes before, picked up lizards many times, caught frogs in the garage and let them go. But snakes seemed to always catch her off guard. They would turn up when least expected. She would see them out of the corner of her eye and just the surprise of it would make her jump; her adrenalin would pump, her heart would thump, and her panic would take over.

What was she going to do? She couldn't just stand there waiting for the snake to decide to leave. What if it were venomous? It didn't look like a viper, but it could be. She would need to get out there soon to water the plants.

"What this requires is some advanced planning," she said out loud to her cat, Louie. "And, I will probably have to go 'once more into the fray' kitty," she said, looking in the cat's direction for emphasis.

"First things first, though," she said. The cat meowed back. It often did that, having become used to being talked to. "Let's look that fellow up," Becky said walking to her bookshelf.

"Let's see, snakes," she said, thumbing through her reptile and amphibian identification book. "It's brown and gray, with some black. With a pattern that looks ... there it is," she said thumping the page so hard that Louie jumped. "Not venomous," she said, triumphantly.

"It's an oak snake, Louie," she returned the book and strode over to her closet. "Not venomous, but I am still not taking chances," she said.

She reached into the closet and pulled out her heaviest jacket. It was lined and stuffed thick with lots of padding. Then she found her mittens and a pair of rubber boots. She knew even non-venomous snakes would sometimes threaten to strike when scared. "And that threat would work on me," Becky said aloud again, though Louie had no idea what she was talking about.

"It's 90 degrees outside, Louie," she said, "so get the iced lemonade ready for when I return."

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best she could come up with. With her armor on, she was already sweating when she slowly pushed open the sliding glass door and stepped back on to the porch.

She was pretty sure the snake would slither away from her presence. She propped open the outside door, and hoped she could shoo the snake in that direction.

Sweat dampened her arms and collected on her face. She spread her arms out, and took a few steps toward the snake. There was so much for it to hide beneath. Becky regretted the rocking chairs and all the plant stands between where the snake was in the corner and the door to the outside.

At first it seemed like the snake was just going to remain where it was, flicking its tongue every now and then. Becky waved her arms, lunged in its direction, and stomped her feet. It sat there, coiled in the corner, as if perfectly happy to remain there. In a fit of desperation, she picked up one side of the rocking chair the snake was under and let it drop. The snake jumped, raised its head like it was going to strike, and then stayed right where it was.

"Snake," Becky said, "This is not how it works. You have got to go." The snake moved its head back and forth, swaying a bit, and that gave Becky an idea.

She had read somewhere that snakes can "hear" thanks to the ability to process vibrations through the bone in their jaw. This awareness of vibrations in the ground was one reason it was very hard to sneak up on snakes. She quickly realized that getting the snake out was going to be a lot easier than she had thought.

Becky turned on the radio she kept on the porch and lowered it to the ground, pointing in the snake's direction. She adjusted the controls so that the bass was as high as it could go. Then, she cranked up the volume. She envisioned the snake swaying to the sounds of "Dancing Queen," by Abba, and then leaving the porch and going far, far away.

Coming back into the house, she began peeling off the now damp armaments she had put on earlier. "Louie, there is more than one way to skin a snake," she said laughing. She watched as the snake uncoiled and moved cautiously in the direction of the door. Bending down to pick up Louie, Becky sighed and stroked his head. "'Cause no one ever wants to skin a cat, sweetie."

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