I realize I talked about a snake last week, but what can I say? Now you’ll get to hear about some different snakes, instead. And the woodpile. And the unexpected rise to heroism of one of my secondary family characters. (Hey, I don’t write these scripts. Sometimes story plots write themselves.)
The evening was off to a good start before the thunder started – the heat was bearable, we’d had our dinner, and we’d settled into our armchairs for the evening movie (The Age of Innocence), when Hussar, our big black shaggy Taigan (county-of-origin Afghan hound), erupted in furious barking, directed at the woodpile contained in the brickwork between the TV and the empty hearth. Now, this is a bold dog who likes to hunt and embraces every opportunity to do so, but rarely gets the chance indoors. On top of this, he has a sort of “emergency bark” that we can rely on, a certain outraged disbelieving tone of “whatthellisthat!?!” which usually indicates something possibly quite unwelcome to humans in close quarters.
Once we came down from the ceiling whence we had levitated at the first bellows, we realized that he was focused on the woodpile of cut logs. Well, many unexpected critters have appeared there in the past, usually of a rodent or shrew variety, but we finally spotted the 2-foot Eastern Garter Snake which then decided he wanted to get a better view of the noisy excitement that had startled him by exiting all the way out at the top of the woodpile, seeking to ascend the external chimney bricks or the back wall, but unable to manage it very quickly. The cavalry sword from the mantel came in handy, and with a few mighty blows, he was dispatched. The senior officers of the family made much of the noble lieutenant who had sounded the alarm, and all was calm again.
… Until the rerun started as a second sizable gartersnake at the bottom of the woodpile began to seek his erstwhile comrade. Hussar, a quick learner who had basked in the jolly praise of “good dog” but moments ago, stepped up for a repeat performance, pandemonium returned, and snake #2 joined his comrade’s fate, with a bit more competence on the part of the sword-wielder. The remainder of the internet-less evening was devoted to the movie, with frequent glances to discern if there was going to be a 3rd volunteer.
And what does any of this have to do with story-telling? Well, the story I just told you had a setting, a cast, unexpected action, flamboyant reaction, a hero-hound with unexpected talents who learns from his successes, justice delivered at the edge of a sword, renewed threats defeated, the release of tension, lingering pride at success, and so forth. I didn’t know when I sat down to the movie that this story could exist, much less how it would develop. I didn’t know what any of the characters would do, but they rose to a story-form need that fit the task. (Including the use of the literal “sword on the mantle” (“gun on the wall”) that we discussed here a few days ago.)
The more I write, the more it seems to me that everything is “STORY”.
Do you have these delusions/inspirations, too?
Mad Genius Club 
7 responses to “Everything is STORY”
But…why kill two harmless garter snakes? I used to catch garter snakes as a lad. (Or ribbon snakes. They’re so similar, I suspect the difference only matters to the snakes. And herpetologists, I suppose.) Brought one in the house once. “Look what I caught!” Mom didn’t mind much, but Dad hit the roof. “Out! OUT!! Take it out, NOW!!” Thus I learned that Dad didn’t like snakes.
So I stopped bringing snakes in the house. Didn’t stop catching them, though, just had to let them go after a while. A few bit me, but their tiny teeth only made little scratches. They’re beneficial creatures that mostly eat bugs.
If I found garter snakes in the house, I’d just take them outside where they belong and wish them good bug-hunting.
I’m not an ophidiophobe, and where possible I let them out (god knows there’s enough mice and crickets for them inside), but we have two dogs, who will predate them if they can, and the manifestation having come to Hussar’s outraged attention, it was impossible to wrangle an 80lb dog, a full indoor woodpile, any sort of glove, and a log-diving reptile simultaneously, and that’s just for me, not to mention my somewhat less mobile husband who was wielding the weapon of opportunity.
The price one pays for living in a small 1812 cabin completely buried in books with inaccessible corners is a certain amount of… porosity… with regard to the local house-hunting critters. When a harmless snake stops my heart crawling along a ceiling rafter over the suspended armament, I may feebly salute him once the surprise wears off and avert my eyes as he slithers past the fencing foil, but one within the reach of my dogs doesn’t get the same pass. Their loathing of snakes is a GOOD thing — makes them wary around timber rattlers and copperheads, both of which we have outside in the fields (and sometimes right outside the door on the pavement). I don’t want them to lose respect for reptiles, since I’m not always around to pull superior force out if I can’t haul them away from their outrage encounter. It’s not easy to restrain a big dog with your off hand while aiming with the other when there’s no other option, but I don’t tell rattlers to knock on my door, either.
I’m picturing a large dog barking, “story! story! story!”
Got that right. 🙂
Where I am in the Peoples’ Eastern Republic of Nova Yorkistan, the story would end with the state Dept. of Environmental Conservation police breaking in the door and charging the residents with killing protected animals. Only properly authorized agents of the state may take such actions. Also probably making sure the residents were not harboring any squirrels that needed to be decapitated by the Peoples’ Glorious Health Kommiseriat.
When we bought this farm lo several decades ago, before we stopped travelling for careers, I was faced with some reality-check issues, since even in Pennsylvania not everyone hunts or fishes. As for instance…. you pull into the driveway at the barn, and the several acre front field stretches out to the cabin, with no evidence of mowing for perhaps years. It’s spring, the grass/growth in the field is lovely and unbroken and at least waist high, and the smell of cucumber(*) is strong enough to knock you over.
I had a merry old time explaining to the urbanite realtor that neither he nor we were gonna be walking into that field any time in the near future.
(* that’s what fields swarming with copperheads smell like.)
Now, regular mowing takes care of that problem, and I don’t need to go seek out protected poisonous snakes just for the fun of it. But when it’s one of them vs me or one of mine at striking range, well…
Oh my mother would have agreed. Any garter snake spotted in the yard was given a poke with a shovel to encourage it to move along. If it didn’t it was Queen of Hearts time “Off with their heads!” We can’t even trap a nuisance animal to relocate it here these days; have to call the govt approved “experts.” That includes all snakes, other reptiles, bats, a lot of birds, and just about every mammal bigger than a field rat.