WILD KINGDOM

“Shut up, Oscar!” I’m typing, trying to meet a deadline.

Oscar barks more. I steal a glance over my shoulder into the backyard. He barks at a squirming line in the dirt.

Son of a biscuit! He’s barking at a snake!

I throw open the door and run. Oscar barks behind the snake as if he’s herding it. I catch my breath when I realize it is a three-foot king snake.

“Good dog, Oscar!” King snakes eat rattlesnakes, so having one around your house is a status symbol in my neighborhood. “You are so lucky you have a king snake!” my neighbors will say tomorrow on our walk.

Mr. King Snake cannot live full time in my backyard, so I grab a broom and sweep him toward the gate. “We want you to stay, but you need to get out of the yard,” I say.

Wait a minute! Where is Pip?

I turn to find my other dog. He sits on the porch, his cheeks puffed out. The leg of what seems to be a fledgling quail dangles between his jaws. We stare at each other for a millisecond. The leg twitches.

What is this? An episode of Wild Kingdom?

“Drop it! Drop it!” I run toward Pip. Too late, I turn back to see the snake has disappeared. Later, I figure out the snake was hunting the quail when the dogs stumbled onto the scene.

“You had hepatitis! You can’t eat that s@#* anymore!” Pip scampers away, turns, and in one gulp, the leg slides down his throat.

I glance toward the neighbors. If they heard me talking to a snake and then run screaming through the yard, they will think the old bat has lost her marbles.

Once again.