You're minding your own business, cleaning out the chicken/guinea/ducks that think they're chickens coop because happy chickens and company make for a happy farmer...and the farmer would be even happier if the chickens would lay eggs, but that's a story for another day I suppose.
Anyway, coop. You're cleaning the coop of it's nasty splodge. You finish with hauling the yuck out and you are now into the nicer task of spreading clean straw. You go to the little silo where the straw is stored and find that there's just enough straw left in the open bale to put in the coop.
You finish that task and then move on to the next, which is cleaning out the ducks who know they're ducks/a goose that thinks it's a duck/geese house. Before you head over there, since it's in the other field, you stop by the little silo to get the straw on the way. You glance up at the stack of straw that's quite a bit taller than you, but figure by flailing your arms around and standing on your toes you'll be able to snag the corner of one and maneuver it down. *pft* Who needs a ladder, right? Besides, no one is going to see, and if they do they probably wouldn't think of it as being out of the norm around here.
You jump up, catching the corner of a bale by your finger tips, watching as it quickly starts to wobble on it's side to fall down in a near miss with your body. As this is happening you notice something starting to slide off the top of the straw bale. In the slow motion action that instills in your mind, it looks to be long and stick-like...but not. There's no stopping the horror.
Because you've been flailing around and your arms are still up in the air trying to steady the bale so it doesn't conk you on the head, that loose v-neck t-shirt you're wearing has come down in front more and has gaped at the bottom of the V. The snake plunks onto your baseball cap, slides down it from the side of the brim, catches your t-shirt's V neck and then...because nothing else can go wrong with the situation...slides into your shirt. You don't exactly know whose more mortified, but you're guessing yourself.
Thankfully you didn't tuck your shirt in. The snake slides clean through, lands on the floor, and slithers away under the straw bales...hopefully to contemplate it's choice of homes, pack up and move.
After you've stopped freaking out over the situation you decide not to share the experience with your family. If you do, you know they'll use it as an excuse to not only leave coop cleaning to anyone but themselves, but also torment you with for the rest of your days. As you're typing this story to share with non-family members, your eldest sees your story and starts laughing and says, "No way, that did NOT happen!", like I'd make something like this up. He tells your youngest, who then wears a look of horror on his face and says how disgusting the situation was and how he's glad he wasn't out there. I don't think he'll be going into the little silo any time soon. So, there you have it folks. Snake. A short story. The End. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
Disclaimer - No farmers or snakes were harmed in the process of this harrowing tale. The picture of the snake is one that had been seen last week at The Silver Maple Farm and is not related to the gardener snake in this story.
I'm the queen of our farm, although the animals haven't figured that out yet. My title is Head Chicken Wrangler, but most days I'm called Mom. Life is a comedy and I plan on documenting it.