Cockatiels at Seven(4)

“Just for a little while,” I said, echoing Karen’s words. I allowed myself to feel a moment of resentment that something was interrupting me just as I was finally settling down to do some real work.

But a shriek from outside broke into my moment of self pity, and I rushed out to see what was wrong.





Two


“Don’t worry,” Dad was saying. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Karen wasn’t still shrieking, but she was clutching Timmy with a fierce grip and staring at Dr. Blake, who had a six-foot green snake draped over his shoulders. Timmy, now released from the stroller, was staring at the snake with rapt attention. For that matter, so was Karen, but she didn’t look nearly as happy as Timmy did.

“It’s an Emerald Tree Boa,” Dad said. “They’re not poisonous. They grab their prey and swallow it alive.”

Karen clutched Timmy a little harder.

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Blake said. “She rarely eats anything larger than a squirrel. And she ate only two days ago. She’s still busy digesting that meal.”

“And she lives at the zoo,” I said. “Why is she digesting over here instead of in her own pen, and how quickly will she be going home to digest in peace and quiet? You know how Mother feels about having snakes around the house.”

“She’s having a very difficult shed,” Dad said. “We need to help her through it, so we brought her over here to keep an eye on while we’re working.”

“Of course, if you suffer from ophidiphobia,” Blake said. “That’s—”

“I know—fear of snakes,” I said. “No, I have no problem with reptiles, but if you value your tree boa, I’d keep a good grip on her. Because I bet Timmy would love to play with a snake—”

“’nake!” Timmy echoed.

“—and do you have any idea how rough toddlers are on things?”

“No, Timmy,” Karen said. “Ouch-ouch-ouch! No snake!”

“Want ‘nake!” Timmy muttered, a little rebelliously. In fact, I saw him take a deep breath, as if he had a lot more to say on the subject and didn’t plan to let anyone interrupt him. Fortunately, Dad and Dr. Blake swung into action and provided a distraction.

Dad picked up a large cotton sack, dampened it with a watering can, and held it open so Dr. Blake could insert the snake. The snake writhed quite dramatically, so it took several tries before they finally got her into the sack.

“What’s that you’re putting her in?” I asked.

“Snake bag,” Dr. Blake said, as he tied the top of the bag. “The moisture will help loosen the skin, and as she writhes around in the bag, the friction of the coarse material will help rub it off.”

The snake was still thrashing about quite energetically inside the bag, which bulged and flowed like a giant brown canvas amoeba.

“What if she gets out of the bag?” Karen asked.

“Don’t worry—we’ll put her in a safe place.”

Dad had finished tying a double knot at the mouth of the bag, and Dr. Blake took hold of the other end and helped him carry it to the safe place—our newly completed and as-yet empty hot tub.

“Michael and I were planning on using that,” I protested. “He’s having a long day of meetings and he’ll need to relax when he gets home.”

For that matter, I had been looking forward to a good soak to ease the sore muscles I’d planned on having after a day of hard work. And while it didn’t look as if I would be getting much blacksmithing done, I still might end up with the sore muscles, depending on what kinds of trouble I had to haul Timmy out of.

“If the boa’s still here when Michael gets home, you could always move him to one of your bathtubs,” Blake said, over his shoulder. He was striding off, already focused on his next project.

“I hope you weren’t planning to bring a bunch of snakes over here,” I told Dad. “Because Karen was going to leave Timmy here with me for a little while, and I don’t think she’d feel all that comfortable if the place is going to be swarming with snakes.”

Of course, while I wasn’t fond of snakes, I would feel more philosophical about their presence if they made Karen change her mind about entrusting little Timmy to my care.

“Oh, no,” he said. “No other snakes; and we’ll only have this one here for a few hours. And don’t you worry,” he added, turning to Karen. “I’ll make sure Dr. Blake doesn’t bring over any dangerous animals.”

“Or birds or reptiles?” I asked.

“No dangerous creatures at all,” Dad said. “Timmy, would you like to meet the llamas?”