Today began as really lovely day. A morning perfect for making the kitchen sing in delectable mouth-watering aromatic harmony. For reveling with the joyful folks across the pond at news of the sweet little princess whilst (see what I did there) enjoying a cupful of caffeine goodness. A day tailor-made for – gaak! What the holy-trying-not-cuss-on-a-Sunday is that?
Either my myopia was deceiving me or there was a king cobra in the backyard. And it was after our goldfish…and our dog. Our geriatric, slightly arthritic, near-sighted dog that was on his way to woof good morning to the koi like he always did.
Quick decision time. Do I wake my fearless woman up to get rid of the snake? Naw, I already know shi would have none of that. Call Animal Control? The police? Whistle and cross my fingers that my deaf dog heard me?
He didn’t hear me – and was headed straight for that venomous slithering killer. Nothing left to do but take the ginger-cumin chicken out of the oven, keep the oven mitts on in case the viper tried to sink its fangs into me and go outside to rescue my thirteen year-old great-dane baby.
After ever so cautiously opening the sliding door, I tip-toed with coffee pot in mitted hand (I needed a weapon!) toward the pond – and the cobra’s head followed my every move!
[channelling my butch-wife] Fuck a good duck. [/channelling] I meant, “Don’t worry big boy. Mama’s coming!”