Snake in the grass

She sees me before I see her. She’s doubling back on herself when I first notice her. Two long slithers folded against each other against the house wall. Outside house wall, to clarify. I’m standing on the deck emptying the tea leaves onto the hydrangeas; she is a couple of metres away from me in the sandy edge of the garden bed. Her black head and yellow bands give away her tiger snake identity. She (I don’t know it’s a she, but that’s the pronoun I choose for her) must sense me watching her because she freezes. Immobile. If she had been like that as I stepped outside, chances are I wouldn’t have noticed her. Her movement belied her presence. She glistens in the morning light. She is, I grudgingly admit, beautiful. All sleekness and muscle. Smallish. Maybe a metre long. Little more than a fat sausage in diameter. Small and beautiful, but also deadly. Tiger snake venom is strongly neurotoxic and a coagulant. Best not to get bitten by one. Fortunately, despite their reputation as being aggressive, Western tiger snakes prefer to avoid contact. Just don’t corner one or make it get defensive.

I open the door and call to Rob: “There’s a snake out here by the deck.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

We leave the dog inside. We stomp on the steps. Bang a broom on the ground near the snake. She slides across the path, all liquid silk and muscle. She stops under the magnolia. Curls back on herself. Rob pushes a bit of dirt towards her with the broom. We don’t want to hurt her or threaten her, but we do want her to move further away. She tucks in under the leaves. Motionless. It’s amazing how hard it is to see her. She is so well camouflaged. I could so easily walk straight past the tree and not see her. I wonder if perhaps I have done so previously. I wonder if she has been living here for a while and it just so happens that until this day our paths haven’t crossed.

Can you see her?

I go out and check a little later. She’s still there. The yellow bands on her body are just visible among the leaves. I make the dog stay inside.

Later, I go over to the neighbour’s place. I put my wellies on and peer under the magnolia as I walk past. I can’t see the snake. She’s gone. My neighbour laughs at my outfit - shorts and yellow wellie boots with chooks all over them. “I’m in snake protection mode,” I tell her. I tell her about the snake. She then tells me she saw one the previous day. It sounds identical. Small tiger snake. We decide it must be the same snake. It’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be. We decide my wellie boots and shorts could be the new fashion look for the area.

I’m vigilant over coming days. Keep the dog close by. Stomp as I walk. Snakes don’t have great hearing but they easily pick up vibrations through the ground. Despite common opinion, they are not deaf, but don’t hear high pitched sounds well. They have no outer ears, but they do have inner ears.

I don’t see the snake again. Maybe she’s found a home down by the creek. I know there are snakes around here. I accept that. But I don’t want them too close to the house.

A couple of days later, I am speaking to the neighbours on the other side of us. They found a snake - small tiger, about a metre long, not very fat, small head - tangled in the netting of their orchard. They caught it; they have snake catching gear and are retired professional biologists, so catching a snake is not a stupid thing for them to do. Especially when it’s already tangled in a net and tired from trying to get free. They put it in a bin and relocated it in the bush a distance away.

I relax. I’m sure all three sightings were the same snake. I’m sure the rustles I hear in the salvias are the resident king skink. I still stomp as I approach the veggie patch, but I give up wearing my wellie boots with my shorts. It was never going to take off as a fashion statement.

See you outside,

Jill