“Dad, a snake!” my 5 year old peered in the doorway.
5 minutes later, my husband had scooped the rattler onto a shovel. Like a captive king, the reptile snarled on his elevated throne, licking the air evilly, and shaking his scepter at us. I took a few photos, then we slid him off into a large blue bucket.
“When you head out, would you let him free away from the house at the edge of The Land?” My husband asked.
“Only if you reassure me he can’t get out.”
“Of course not.” My husband brushed his knuckles against my cheek and I knew how lucky I was.
A bit later, I hopped into the car as my husband went to get the bucket.
As soon as his hand touched the wire handle, like a spring released from tight quarters, the snake threw himself, teeth bared, for Kevin’s arm. The rattler managed to fling himself over the side, nearly onto my husband, and nearly managed to writhe away before being recaptured , shoveled back into the bucket and covered with a cloth.
Following my husband’s direction again, my son and I placed the bucket at my son’s feet and, a few minutes later, we released the still hissing rattler in an uninhabited spot.
All the rest of the drive, I wondered why after 3 lovely but unplanned sons, I was still willing, on my husband’s reassurance alone, to put a open bucket with large rattler at the feet of my beautiful middle son in a small closed car.