I’m still traumatized even though it was three days ago. We’ve had snakes in the garage before, but this time it was a venomous copperhead. Our daughter or I could have been bitten and ended up in the hospital.
While grandson Ben and his dad were out of town on a youth group trip, our daughter K. came to visit for the weekend. She arrived late when it was already dark outside, and she and I made a couple of trips back and forth to the car to bring in the things she brought with her. On K’s last trip through the garage she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and came flying back into the house yelling, “snake!” The snake was close to the steps that lead into the garage from my laundry room.
The garage light was on, but it isn’t very bright, and the snake was in the shadow of the car. So we stood inside and shined a flashlight through the glass in the door trying to see what kind of snake it was. It was a copperhead, not a large adult but not a baby either. Experts say the young ones are more dangerous because they always release their venom when they bite.
After much deliberation and shaking like a leaf and feeling as if I were having a heart attack, I opened the door, grabbed a push broom with a long handle and shoved the snake. I had to get it out of there, and I didn’t know what else to do. It went under the car. Why I walked along the side of the car with a flashlight in my hand and looked for that snake, I don’t know. I feel terrified just thinking about that now. The snake was nestled against the front tire on the driver’s side.
I entered the passenger side of the car, climbed over the center console to the driver’s side (which isn’t easy, and I’m no spring chicken), and started the car. Yes, I killed the venomous snake. I drove over it and then backed up over it again. Then I came inside and felt guilty for killing it.
The next morning I had to remove the carcass. Even though the snake was absolutely dead and was squashed flat, I screamed the entire time I was picking it up with a shovel and carrying it across the driveway to the woods.
I thought that writing this might make me less afraid. I hope it does. I don’t like feeling traumatized.
Here’s a photo of the squashed copperhead. The markings are very distinctive…
And because I can’t end with that, here’s a photo of something pretty to make me feel better…