Of Rattles and Kings...

Since moving to Cloverdale about a year ago, I've realized that it is, perhaps, the dryest, hottest place that I've ever lived with the exception of Pittman, NV (just outside Las Vegas).

At the time that I lived in Pittman, however, I lived in a studio room of a former motel was young, had no plants (in pots or otherwise) to keep watered and no pets to worry about. Now, of course, 40 years later (and after having worked in the nursery business for a couple of decades), I have many, many plants and a black kitty-amigo named Plunkett to see after. . .

Here in Cloverdale, the average daytime temperature is 10 degrees hotter than the last place we lived before this and at least 7 degrees hotter during the day than the place we lived for 14 years and had to move from a couple of years ago.

Our little trailer is also in the middle of the oak woodland hills and the nearest small town is over 3 miles away. It is the furtherest we've lived from a settlement since the early days of our marriage when we lived on the coast near the town of Bodega [Corners] and, while the town of Cloverdale is considerably larger than that of Bodega, Cloverdale itself is isolated from any surrounding towns by over 20 miles.

The dry, tawny-golden hills around us are very dry. Only the scrub and blue oaks and such drought resistant species as madrone, manzanita, toyon and coyote bush can exist here on their own.

Additionally, this has been a very dry year for us here in Northern California. So dry, in fact, that there are rumors of imminent water rationing flying fast and furiously in just about every community north of San Francisco -- although none that I'm aware of have officially announced it as yet.

This brings me to the subject of rattlesnakes. . .

When we experience drought-like conditions here in Northern California, as you might imagine, the reports of rattlesnake sightings go up considerably. I can't say as I blame them. Rattlers, just like all other creatures, need water to drink and they will come down from the hills seeking it wherever they can find it just as the deer, the wild turkeys and the coyotes also do that also roam these parts.

During a drought, the most likely places to have water will also have human beings, so we're bound to run into one another occasionally. . .

The only native species of poisonous snake for hundreds of miles around us is the so-called "western rattler". The coloring of the western rattler varies a great deal from area to area within California and even varies a great deal from place to place within those areas; however, a rattlesnake is a rattlesnake and there is no mistaking the broad, diamond-shaped head of a venomous snake once you've seen one. . . and, so far this year, I have seen TWO of them within a matter of yards from my house.

One was killed by my landlord when it was discovered underneath a sheet of corrugated tin as my landlord was tidying up an area near his large "shop" which is about 60 feet down the hill from our trailer. The other was killed by the landlord's son in his own yard another 200 feet down the driveway. The one the landlord killed had 10 rattles on the end of its tale, indicating, of course, that it was at least 10 years old.

The western rattlesnake is unlike most other rattlesnakes in the fact that it is notoriously quite shy, lethargic and slow to anger. In fact, the one that the landlord uncovered didn't move a muscle until after its head was severed from its body even though it was exposed to the light of day amidst a cacophany of loud noises.

It didn't move and it didn't "rattle". . .

I have yet to decide whether or not this natural "reticence" on the part of the western rattler is a good thing or a bad thing. . . I mean, while I'm overjoyed at the fact that one will probably not go out of its way to "stalk" me, I'm not comforted in the least in thinking that one could be right under my nose and, in all probability, I would not know it was there unless I stepped right on it.

I also worry about kitty-Plunkett because, for some reason, Plunkett seems to think his mother and father were both African lions and that he was born out on the savannah even though he was actually the little, black runt of his tiny, young, black mother's litter. I worry that, if he sighted such a snake that he would go after it the same way he goes after the blue-belly lizards (despite my loud disapproval) that also populate this area.

Here of late I have noticed that all of the lizards near the house seem to possess extremely short tails for some strange reason. . .

Also, the other day as my husband was watering the plants around the house and I was talking to him as he went along with the hose, I heard him mutter "king snake". I actually only barely heard him say the words before I noticed said king snake (about 5 feet long) slithering off at a rapid pace about 6 inches from my feet.

Now, king snakes are most certainly NOT poisonous. In fact, a king snake is really the ONLY snake that can (and will) take on a rattlesnake and come out the victor -- so, you've got to admire them for that if for no other reason. . . They are also quite attractive snakes being possessed of stark, alternating black and white "ring-like" stripes that make them look rather like they're dressed up as old-timey convicts (or, perhaps, on their way to attend some type of snake-charity ball).

However, I do find disconcerting that said king snake was within half a foot of me before I saw it and that I had to be alerted to its presence by a man who mumbles in a heavy southern accent. . .

So, after being gone all day today in the 92-degree heat, I found it necessary to water all of my plants after the sun went down.

There I was -- dragging the hose along -- watering all of the potted plants around the trailer IN THE DARK and thinking about my recent physical proximities to certain creatures of the herpetological set, when a small frog that I must have disturbed with the water from the hose chose that moment to leap -- Baryshnikov-like -- onto my bare leg and cling there until I leapt -- insane-Watusi-like -- several times into the air while making a sound rather like a combination of a diving submarine and a "James Brown car alarm". . .

Plunkett, needless to say, evacuated the area IMMEDIATELY and, with him, went any hopes I may have had for him to turn out to be the "Lassie of cats". **sigh**