slytherin patio

When I was in grade school, I had two passions -- snakes and circuses.

The snake fascination had a long pedigree. My mother tells me that I used to smuggle snakes into the house inside my cowboy boots -- a transportation method not suited to provide comfort to either party, I would think. Especially, for the snakes.

The circus was a new attraction. The year was 1959 or so. Barnum & Bailey was still a going concern. My grandfather and mother took Darrel, a couple of neighbors, and me to a three-ring extravaganza in the Portland Memorial Coliseum.

It was the epitome of entertainment. Lights. Smells. Music. Animals. Acrobats. Clowns. Magicians. Everything to distract a young lad -- so much so, I decided then and there that I would one day own a circus.

When we got home, I enlisted a number of neighbors to put on our own circus -- complete with a parade. When we moved to the Portland area, I brought a magic book I had purchased at Gamwell's Variety in Powers. So, my choice of circus act was natural. I would be the magician.

Every magician can make his audience believe that objects can disappear. My book had a fool-proof process -- with animate objects. But I had seen the circus magician makes doves and rabbits come and go. For my circus act, I decided to make a garter snake disappear.

It did. But not from magic. It slithered out of my sleeve and disappeared into the grass. That is when I discovered that laughs bring more applause than being serious. And my life course was set. Nothing ever again would be serious.

Those two passions of my youth came for a visit on Friday afternoon. I was walking across the patio when something moved.  Very fast. It was a coachwhip snake.

They are easy to identify by their shape because they look like their namesake. Long and thin. And very fast.

I was searching in my pocket for my telephone while trying to keep up with the snake. We had made a half-circuit around the pool when the snake came to a bend in front of my bedroom. Coachwhips have an odd behavioral habit of raising their heads in curiosity -- even when they are in full flight.

As the snake went from light into the shadow cast by the planter in front of my bedroom, it just disappeared into thin air. Well, it seemed to disappear. Far better than my failed circus act.

Of course, snakes do not just disappear. But once it hit the shadow, it was gone.

There was a large plastic  bag filled with vine clippings outside of my bedroom door. I have tracked plenty of snakes, and I thought I knew I thought I knew exactly where it was. Hiding under the bag. It wasn't. When I klifted the bag, it was not there. It was just gone.

Because of its speed, I did not get a photograph. I didn't even have time to get my telephone out of my pocket. So, I surrendered to the task I had been on when I saw the snake.

I have learned how important it is to hang onto pieces of paper here in Mexico. For example, the immigration web site informed me that I would need the receipt for my original permanent resident card to obtain a replacement -- part of Operation Recovery caused by my lost and unrecovered wallet.

My problem is that I keep my receipts, but I am way behind in my filing. I have a large stack of loose papers waiting to be filed sitting on top of the file box in my bedroom.

With no snake to stalk, I decided to devote an hour or so to sorting and filing my papers. I picked up the file box and discovered how the snake had disappeared. It was coiled up behind the box. In my bedroom.

The moment I lifted the box, the coachwhip was on its speedy way out of the open door. Somehow, while in full flight, the snake had darted under the space at the bottom of the door into my bedroom. I suspect it was waiting for all the activity to die down so it could it slip away quietly when I went to bed.

It was the first snake I have found inside the house in my six years of living here. If I could, I would pull one out of my sleeve -- or my cowboy boot.