I started my day attempting to renew the boat registration. It’s all online now. You need an account to log in but our boat isn’t associated with an account so I can’t renew it. Forty minutes of frustration that needs a Mon-Fri, 9-5 follow up phone call to Salem — epic fail.
So I dig out the roto-tiller to go burn off some frustration and out of the 8 yellow diesel containers actually full of ethanol free gasoline, (talk to Jeff – you all know I’m a color coded rule follower), I fill the tank with the only can of diesel we have on the property. Yes – I caught it BUT until you’ve syphoned diesel out of a gas tank in 90 degree weather – you have no idea how bad that sucks.
By now, I’m pretty freakin’ hot and cranky. I take to the yard to patch all the vole trails carved into once beautiful lawn… They burrow into the roots and leave ugly dead paths that need to be raked up, leveled and reseeded. It’s not fun work but it has to be done.
I’m crawling around the yard on my hands and knees patching things up – and what do I see in the lawn next to me but a (SCREAM!!!!!) snake… Jeff grabs for his gun, I grab my itty bitty yard rake, I’m yelling at Jeff to kill it but not to shoot (the hot tub was too close). It slithers away in the chaos and reappears just as I get ready to move the sprinkler then retreats UNDER THE DECK (gulp).
It gets worse. It’s a rubber boa – harmless to humans (supposedly) and get what it eats — yard trashing voles… Dang. For someone who believes that the only good snake is a dead snake — this is a pickle of a situation, indeed.
I’m giving up on this day, mixing cocktails on the deck and getting use to the idea that Herb, the vole eating snake, and I can somehow coexist. Jeff is still somewhere in the shop bellylaughing his ass off. I’ll give him this one – because if it had been a rattlesnake, we’d be moving right now.
Know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em, know when to walk away, know when to run – and know when to pour a drink.