Only in Texas

There are those people who take pictures of their daily moments and post them for posterity on social media or their blog. In this case, I did not. 

Monday morning, I was home alone with Luna, when I caught her chasing a longish, black slithery thing through the house. While I made the appropriate noises, the creature, looking for shelter, slid under my robotic vacuum. Luna crouched, growling, letting me know whatever it was now resided under the vacuum. 

And here is the fun part: it is considered in these parts, "baby copperhead" season. That is, a time when the copperheads spawn, and their babies--which have black and brown scales AND LOOK NOTHING LIKE COPPERHEADS are roaming the suburbs, hanging out in unsuspecting places. These thugs (I'm told by my vet, Doc. P.,) have enough venom to kill a Luna doggie.

I'd like to tell you that I handled this next part with the grace of a Southern Belle or the bravery of a Texan, but we'd all know I was lying. 

With a quick triage of my options I decided the critter probably wouldn't try to break for another room with Luna a foot away, growling. Nor would it come out. Therefore, Luna was momentarily safe. With that knowledge, I opened the closest outside door (the one leading to the back yard--looking back, I see the flaw in that plan: it would then be in MY back yard) and rushed into the garage to grab the only weapon I could readily find: the broom. 

While all this was going on, I was deciding who loved me enough in Phoenix to let me live with them for the rest of my life. Because, I made it very clear to Marty when I moved here: I didn't sign up for snakes. 

I spent another 10 minutes cajoling, coercing and shoving Luna out of the way. She weighs 60 pounds and manages to drop her weight when she wants what she wants. And she wanted this. All the while, I kept an eye on the robotic vacuum, hoping the critter didn't decide to slither out at that moment and make a beeline under the couch. 

After Luna was locked into the master bedroom, I grabbed the broom with one hand and the robotic vacuum with another. "Please don't bite me," I begged, as I lifted the vacuum. 

And there it was. An earthworm. An--I swear not making this up--eight inch, fat earthworm. I've never seen one so big! I hit it once with the broom and the darn thing broke in two, wiggling its two extra-fat, four-inch segments in two different directions, and neither direction was towards the back door. I tried picking up one side of it, and it jumped--jumped!--out of my hand and began wiggling on the ground again. All the while, I was trying to figure out 1) how it got into the house, because no door had been opened in at least three hours 2) how it was surviving without dirt. 

With the use of the dustpan, I managed to get both pieces outside. But that was enough of an ordeal for one week.