Me and Pecos Bill
There are tall tales about Pecos Bill, a famous Texan, like my own trophy wife, Miss Sugar. This here is a true tale about what I done, just like old Bill. I done it at the urging of Miss Sugar. I’d do anything for that gal.
The reason I am writing this now is that a good friend of mine called me to say he enjoyed reading Sharpshooter, which is a true story as well. His only question was why I used any tool to kill that rattler I wrote about. He asked that because, growing up with me and all, he is very aware of how quick I am. So is Miss Sugar. That got me thinking about what I done a few years back without no shovel, nor gun either.
If y’all have read some of my previous posts, you know that Miss Sugar and I live in a log cabin in Colorado. Miss Sugar loves birds. She feeds ’em and takes pictures of ’em. Well, one time some birds built a nest on a light fixture above our front door. It was pretty smart of them bird brains cuz that light is beneath our porch roof out of the rain. Miss Sugar occasionally checked on the eggs in the nest and, after they hatched, she would hold a mirror above the nest so she could look at the baby birds per the photo above.
Well, one fine day as she checked on the bird nest, she saw something that bothered her a mite. What she seen was a mean old snake climbing on the logs aiming toward them baby birds. So, since I’m her hero and all, as reported in previous posts, she decided to casually mention to me that it appeared a snake was fixin to bother her favorite birds.
I caught her subtle drift. As always, I come a runnin’. What she had carefully described in colorful language was indeed true. A damned snake was slithering up the house to the nest. I did not have time to get a gun or tool. My favorite gal was upset. So I did what any fearless hero would do. I grabbed that snake by the tail, swung it around and around with centrifugal force so it could not bend back and bite me. I knew what to do because I had read about Pecos Bill doing the same thing.
After a few swings around my head, Miss Sugar suggested that I quit showing off and let go. Which I done. I let go with an appropriate wrist motion, sending that snake off the porch a ways, where it landed on the ground. I went down the porch steps to finish the job. Miss Sugar confidently assured me that it was a bullsnake, not a rattlesnake. They have similar patterns. She called her brother Mike because he knows about stuff like that. He agreed that it was surely a bullsnake.
Now there is a difference or two. One is that bullsnakes do not have rattles. Another is that they are not poisonous.
So I went over to the bullsnake. Apparently, it held a grudge. It coiled up, imitating a rattler. It was so good at imitating that I imagined I could hear rattles. It opened its mouth and flicked out its forked tongue in a threatening manner, revealing its fangs that Mike and Sugar knew were not poisonous. Silly me. I felt like a big old chicken.
If I was as brave as Pecos Bill, I’d of picked it up again, just for fun. But since I already had saved the birds, I kilt it with that sharpshooter shovel I wrote about in my blog called Sharpshooter.
I cut the rattles off the bullsnake because everyone knows bullsnakes don’t have rattles. This one had not gotten the memo. At least it wasn’t poisonous. That could have been dangerous.
What Pecos Bill did was very dangerous. What I done was similar, but, like Mike told Sugar, was perfectly safe. Those rattles almost fooled me.