Snakes bring reptile drama into the garden

At Sandy Bay, the Floyds and McKenzies have shed their long johns. The snakes have shed their skins and the sound of lawnmowers and air conditioners are heard throughout the land.

Uncle Sam can’t keep illegal immigrants from crossing the border and Ole Scrap Iron can’t keep snakes out of her yard. Peggy checks their DNA library card and fingerprints, but snakes are clever: they have a letter of introduction from Billy Graham or references from Hillary Clinton. I wouldn’t say Peggy is cold-hearted, but one drop of her Floyd blood will air-condition Magnolia Mall.

She allows birds and insects to seek sanctuary in her garden. The mockingbirds swoop down like fine-feathered dive-bombers on my tomcat’s head. The hummingbirds gather at Peggy’s hanging buffet. I suggested she add Texas Pete to the hummingbirds’ diet. I wanted to find out whether hummingbirds have cuss words in their vocabulary.

The first snake of the season entered our yard last week on a suicide mission. Peggy greeted the trespasser with her trusty hoe. The snake was out-manned, out-flanked and out of luck. I tried to mediate a peace treaty between Peggy and the snake, but one of the snakes told Channel 13 that Peggy’s corn looked like toothpicks with tassels, and it would take two rows of Peggy’s butterbeans to fill up an ashtray. This resulted in a breakdown of peace talks.

The snakes at Sandy Bay are getting smarter. Instead of hibernating, they train all winter long doing push-ups, lifting weights and crawling in marathons. The snakes used to be so skinny they could crawl through a keyhole without scratching their backs. They made Peggy’s hoe handle look like the Incredible Hulk.

The snakes have all developed an inferiority complex. And because Dr. Dorn Smith is the only qualified snake psychiatrist in the Pee Dee, I invited him to Sandy Bay to treat the snakes. Unfortunately, one of the snakes became emotionally involved with Dr. Dorn and invited him to hiss in her pit.

If Peggy is not irrigating her garden, she’s irritating me. But I’m smart enough not to go to war with a half-McKenzie, half-Floyd and a 100 percent weapon of mass destruction. Of course, a gentleman would never strike a lady — especially one with a yellow streak the size of a school bus.

I wanted to purchase a new hoe for Peggy’s 49th wedding anniversary. Her old snake-killing machine is fading fast. Every time Jesus calls another snake home, she carves a notch in that hoe handle. The snakes are placing bets on when that hoe handle is going to fold up like a cheap pillowcase. One day soon she will lean on that hoe handle and that Floyd will bounce higher than the price of gasoline and the snakes will all applaud.

There may be some unbelievers out there who will ask the question, “What do snakes applaud with?” These people can kiss my grits. I just write this stuff, I don’t have to explain it.

— Charlie Walker is a local newspaper columnist. He can be reached at P.O. Box 441, Kingstree, SC 29556.