My family and I recently came back from a short vacation in the mountains. The house we stayed at was evidently the property of the fellow in the picture here. Every morning he slithered out of his hole at the end of the porch and settled down for a leisurely afternoon basking in the sun.  I’m sorry you can’t see him better. I just couldn’t bring myself to getting any closer. I really don’t think you can trust snakes. All our best friends in the animal world have fur and legs, while snakes have neither. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

It seemed it would be easier to deal with his daily presence if we gave the snake a name, so we dubbed him Reginald. Then I made a deal with my new pal. If he stayed on his side of the house, we would stay on ours. Both sides kept to the bargain.

The day before we left, I had a conversation with Reginald. By late afternoon, the rays of the sun had brought him right under the bathroom window. It was low and narrow, and I was sure he would hear me quite well if I talked to him. So I knelt down like a penitent in the confessional and called to him through the open window. 

    “Reginald? Reginald could I talk to you. Just for a minute?” I asked.

    He breathed a sigh of annoyance, and for a while, I thought he might not answer.

    “Very well,” he said finally, “but it’s close to tea, so do make it quick.”

  “I’d like to apologize for encouraging my husband to shoot you when we got here. It’s just, well, I have babies, you know. I wanted to protect them.”

    “Well, it was bad form for sure,” he remarked flippantly. “You know this is my house. You should be happy I’m willing to share it.”

    “Yes, I’m sorry.  I’ll remember that next time. Only well, you see not everyone of your ilk is so complacent. In fact, some are downright vicious. Tell me, what do you think of that black snake I saw last night on the other side of the house? He doesn’t seem as, well, I suppose as nice as you.”

The thought of his neighbor seemed to irritate Reginald, and I wished I had never brought it up.

“He’s a bloody fool, that what he is. He has no manners whatsoever. And just look how he dresses. I have an intricate brown pattern, it’s very classy. But he goes around in solid black like some kind of hippie, or punk, or whatever they call those people these days. You know the newspaperman hasn’t been around in a while, so my information may be a bit outdated. I climbed into his truck once to sample a quiche he left sitting on his dashboard. For some reason, he never came back.”

    “Well, I have heard the color you wear has a psychological effect on you,” I agreed. “So, I guess  you two don’t socialize?”

    “Never! He’s slow and dull-witted, that one. I prefer my friends up the mountain. We get together for Bridge once a week. Last time I brought a toad potpie. The crust was excellent, just the right amount of flake without being too brittle.”

    Reginald moved a bit after he finished speaking. He had that expression people get when they think a warm delicious thought. “You know, I rather like you,” his voice seemed to take on a higher, softer pitch now. “Tell me, how long are you staying?”

    “We leave in the morning,” I said.

    “Oh, what a pity. I could have had you for dinner.”

    I wasn’t sure if he meant as a guest or as the meal, so I quickly bid him farewell, then closed and locked the window. You know I really don’t think you can trust snakes.