I was really little…maybe 8 or so. Up on my Great Grand Father’s farm in Indiana I was playing out in the yard on a tree swing. Grandpa was showing Daddy something out in the shop and beings how it was my turn on the swing my brother and sisters were somewhere else. {Cue music} Twinkle, twinkly little star…not that it was night time, but just cause I like that one. So there I was bare footed and swinging just as high as I could…man I was going fast…almost flying even. Daddy and Grandpa came out of the shop and were watching me. Daddy was being a Dad and asked Grandpa how long the swing had been there and how old the rope was and such…he looked up at the huge limb the swing hung from and likewise my eyes followed. “What’s that Daddy?” I said, and then Daddy came over and lifted me off the swing. The snake was climbing down the rope and once it got close to the ground Grandpa knocked it off and Daddy wacked it up with an ax. That is when I learned about snakes. So I hated ‘em every since. I don’t care if there are “good” kinds I hate ‘em all.
So that’s that. The last, howbeit my first snake story. I don’t know about y’all my dear internets, but I sure hope I don’t experience any more…cause if I do you will have to hear about it.
no snake was harmed in the writing of this story
but there was in the original making of this story
