I'm sure there's a prophecy somewhere that will back me up on that.
In the meantime, I'm getting dizzy trying to watch my feet and look for bears all at the same time. It's not that I'm scared to do things outside, I just like to be alert. When I walk across the field or through the woods, I carry a walking stick, and give the ground a thump with it every few steps so the big things will dart away before I get to them. Good grief, you don't want to know the horror movie bugs and spiders I've seen on my travels here.
And I sing. At least it gives the deer time to scurry off before I walk around the corner and they snort loudly and leap their white tails into the woods. This also avoids my heart rate jumping through the roof because that panicky noise always startles me.
So the black snakes (all 3 of them yesterday, between 3 & 5 feet) I helped to escape into the woods so the chickens would calm down. Those less fortunate with poison fangs didn't fare so well, especially when they were frolicking in the chicken area.
I wish this copperhead was living its snake life somewhere else in the woods, but it would have taken a better man than me to capture it and release it somewhere else. I tried to preserve its beauty the best I could.
The official length was 42"
Brent wanted to help with skinning the snake, even jumping in to cut the skin. He bailed when it started to get smelly, but at that point I was considering it as well.
That night, he made an art project all on his own of a snake.
And yesterday I cooked up my meticulously prepared fried copperhead. I managed a bite, and so did Brent. He liked it, but declined more. I plain didn't like it. The flavor was fine - a little tough and hard to get off the ribs, though. And a little...stretchy. I cannot in good faith recommend it as tasting like chicken.
I'm adding this to the list of things I did not see myself adding to my life resume.
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