Wild Kingdom

Los Angeles, California


Billy was over at the rental house a couple of weekends ago, and I was left with the chore of doing the outside watering. Our house is comprised of four quadrants of areas which have potted plants requiring occasional deep-watering (insert hose, let drip into pot for ten minutes utilizing timer, move hose). Why all of these pots are not on a drip system, I know not. Someday maybe they will be. The project list is long.


Anyway, as I was saying, I grabbed the hose from the garage and began to walk out across the driveway toward a large pot which contains a red bougainvillea. The pot is nestled into a corner of the retaining wall that supports our back hill. There is a square bump out in this wall, where we have a Meyer lemon tree, and that creates the corner where the pot resides at the top of our driveway (there is also a front hill). Got that? So . . . as I approached the pot, I could see the ground behind it, where some leaves and dead bracts had accumulated. And I also saw . . . the snake. The funny thing was that it registered as Oh, a snake. And I continued my approach. Then my brain hollered A SNAKE!!! I made a hasty decision (despite the pounding of my heart, and burning desire to drop the hose and swiftly escape) to woman-up and water the thirsty plant. As I got closer, the snake, evidently, sensed my presence and moved towards the corner of the wall, then proceeded (ok, here it comes: EEUUUWW . . .) to slither up the wall under the rosemary that trails over the wall (again, eeuuwww) and disappear. Shudder, shudder, shudder.


I don't like snakes. Even small garter snakes, as this one appeared to be. We live in the foothill suburbs of Los Angeles, and share our neighborhood with owls, hawks, lizards, squirrels, mice, rats, opossums, rabbits, coyotes, and, until recently, one mountain lion (Officer Trulik reported this at a Neighborhood Watch meeting -- evidently they track the mountain lions and they know, to some extent, where they are). Unfortunately for our one mountain lion, he tried one of those Rusty's-in-the-club crossings of the 405 freeway, and didn't quite survive his initiation.


We see many of these animals, especially lizards and squirrels. After we lost our beloved Australian Shepherd, the bunnies showed up within about forty-eight hours. Word travels fast in the animal world. Billy told me early on that where there are rodents, there will be snakes. I suppose I thought that was fine, as long as I didn't see any of them. But now I have, and I fear that the one I saw may have been a scout.


Billy has sole responsibility for any lizards who get into the house. I'm not up to the task of capturing them, and neither is Ana, who helps us with housekeeping. But I have responsibility for relocating spiders. Billy hates them, but for some reason, I don't mind them so much. Maybe it's the Charlotte's Web thing. Though a voracious reader throughout my childhood and adolescence, I don't recall reading a lot of children's classics, except Alice in Wonderland. Then, in college, I took a class entitled Children's Literature; also known as Kiddie Lit. And that was when I read Charlotte's Web, and when I first read the wonderful Wind in the Willows.


But, let's get back to the spiders. If Billy is left to his own devices, his method for dealing with a spider who has made the ill-advised decision to share our home, is to take off his shoe and smash the poor thing wherever he stands -- like on a freshly-painted wall, for example. This bothers me on three counts:


1) Let the poor thing live. Spiders are beneficial insects. They eat the bugs that you really don't want around the house.


2) If you need to get rid of a yucky bug, you man-up and use a tissue or two: grab bug with tissue wad; deposit in toilet; flush twice (am I the only person who pays attention to the education provided in early Woody Allen films?)


3) Uh, hello . . . big smeary spot on the wall?


So, I get to do spider duty. The way I handle this is like so: I ignore them. But if I have to, I relocate them to the garden. Seriously. As long as they don't get into my bed and bite me, I pretty much let the garden spiders live. We do have black widows in California. They can give a nasty, poisonous bite. But honestly, I've never met or even personally heard of anyone who has been bitten by a black widow, and neither has Billy (I just asked him). So, it would seem to me that the risk is not large (about akin to children eating toadstools, and oh my, isn't this turning into a Halloweenesque post? Charles Addams has nothing on this girl!).


So I might as well tell you my spider story. A few months back I was doing some feeding of plants using a large watering can. The liquid wasn't coming through the spout easily, so I peered inside the spout and saw that there was debris blocking the hole. The watering cans are mostly of the attractive Smith & Hawken variety which I leave outside, displayed in picturesque fashion (I can hear throwing up as a result of this quaint visual. Sorry.). As a result, leaves and other debris sometimes collect inside the watering cans. In this case, the debris had been forced a bit out of the spout by the liquid, so I was able to grasp it with my fingers and pull it out. As I did this, it started to move between my fingers, and I realized that it was a very large spider. Even with my generally benevolent attitude towards spiders, this was a bit much: drop watering can; go into house; wash hands; get gardening gloves out of drawer; take deep breath; return to garden.


Truth is, if you're going to maintain a garden, sometimes you're going to come into contact with the wildlife. Generally I don't mind the spiders. And I always enjoy the discovery of a prehistoric-looking praying mantis in my garden. My father pointed one out to me when I was young, and told me never to destroy them -- a childhood experience which reminds me of To Kill A Mockingbird. My dad moved his finger next to the praying mantis, and it turned its head to look at it. Did you see that? my dad asked. And I always stop to appreciate these creatures when I see them in my garden, and I always think about my dad.


Dad was the only male and official spider-killer in our family home. And maybe that's why I stepped up to the plate as an adult. Though I usually don't kill them, I'm not that kind with other critters I find in my garden. I dispose quickly of any grasshoppers I can catch. They can eat their way through a patch of basil and go on to strip leaves from a rosebush in record time. A plague of locusts! They go out of my garden the moment I get my hands on them. Snails, too. I can be ruthless.


I don't know if snakes are creatures of habit, but I do now check that spot behind the pot every single time I am out on the driveway. And, I'm a little cautious about approaching any pot which creates a good hiding place for slithering creatures. My friend, Joan, who had a large ranch up in the Santa Ynez Valley once told me that she thought it was all the mythology about snakes which create our animosity towards them. You know, the serpent in the origins of Judeo-Christian tradition. Could be. I just know I don't like them, and am probably in pretty good company in that. Snakes, Indiana Jones said. Why does it always have to be snakes? And even though it was the first snake I had seen in fifteen years of living here, that was exactly what I thought.


Happy November from the wild kingdom, and thank you for reading my blog.