The Hills are Alive

They really are alive...they're crawling and wriggling with critters right now. Not only the hills but inside my house, too. This morning my cleaning ladies were working their magic in the living room while I was making us all a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Rosario ran towards me in an agitated way, tripping over her words but making her point known which was there was an animal in the living room. I eyed the kitchen chairs, assuming there was a rat (at the very least) and I'm all about putting some distance between me and any rodent that chooses my house as temporary lodging. Well, it wasn't a rodent; it was a small wren, perched delicately on my decorated twisted willow branches. DID I GRAB MY CAMERA and snap away? Of course not. Damnit. I did not. Leslie, Rosario's cousin, quietly approached it from the back, cupping her hands gently around it and calmly walked outside, where she released it to the wilds of my garden.

So, here are the birdless branches, minutes after the bird was removed. I'm still smacking myself over what could have been a really good pictures.










I'm still happy it wasn't a rat. We have rats at this time of the year. They're under the house where the tools are stored. Under cover, but not in the basement, proper. My husband calls them wood rats. They are a bit Wind in the Willowie in that they almost seem to smile at you as they dart by but I'm completely discombobulated by them. I can't stand the surprise, gotcha, nature of rodents. But the wren in the twisted willow pales in comparison to what I saw this afternoon and it wasn't a rat.

I decided to take a nap in the little guest cottage. It's always comfortable, but never more so than when the day is slightly cool and the sun warm and strong. Today was such a day. I made my way down to the cottage, turning round to admire the recently 'filled-in' steps. Pavers and railroad ties make up the stairs and winter rains had washed soil from between the pavers. This past week all the gaps had been filled in, making one feel more sure-footed on the descent. So, admiring the newly firmed footholds my eyes were drawn to the second to bottom step. The step I'd just trod on, the step with a three-foot RATTLESNAKE on it.

Can you see it...look carefully, on the right. A rattler. And I almost stepped on it. Shit. It had obviously just crawled out from some chilly undergrowth and was searching for some warmth. Luckily, it was still a slow mover. I took the other stairs back up to the house and got Himself who was on the phone with his sister in Wales. I mouthed, "IT'S IMPORTANT! IT'S A RATTLER!" We both ran back down so I could show him what had almost killed me. We both determined that it should be moved, back up into the canyon, away from homes and humans and we did try to get him in big plastic rubbish bin but he rattled furiously and slithered away. Freaky fast and then he was under a rock. Himself kept an eye on him while I dialed 911. They put me on to the local Topanga Fire Department and they dispatched a pair of firefighters to, I presumed, move this rattler, perhaps to Topanga State Park.


But no, they didn't come to move it, they came to kill it. And I felt like shit because they killed a creature that has more claim to this land than I. Sure, I rationalize it. Little kids play here. Rattlers are beyond dangerous. But I still don't feel good about today.
Tomorrow we're going to buy this grabbing device that will allow us to capture, contain and move any future snakes that choose to visit.