What We Notice

If dogs have the ability to track snakes by scent, nobody passed the memo on to Baxter. We go walking in a wooded neighborhood daily, and, especially in the Fall, there’s always something of a chance we find a garter snake in the road. I can understand the appeal for a reptile sort of creature. I don’t think even your usual flat rocks get as warm as blacktop and the shit covers way more ground. If part of the road gets too shaded, the snakes can move a couple inches in any direction to find a warmer spot. The problem is until that spot cools off or a predator touches them, the snakes hunker down. I can walk right up to one, way under a foot, and almost until I poke the dang things they stay put. If a twig pokes a snake, it can move away. Once a snake registers a four-doors’ tire touching it, the animal’s guts are popping out the sides.

Flattened baby snakes are particularly abundant in October. I don’t know the reason.

Dead or alive, Baxter’s nose skips right on over the things. I already knew his eyes weren’t connected to his brain, but considering how that hound nose of his hoovers along the asphalt constantly I had some kind of hope it might be functional. No. Even the larger snakes with flies crawling helter-skelter fail to pass the Baxter. And yet, and yet, give him a crumb of burger bun hiding under a pile of bottle shards, and suddenly Baxter remembers his houndage.

It was on an overcast Tuesday that I found myself busy coaxing, commanding, and finally hauling Bax away from someone’s run over sandwich. Egg salad. I’d seen tree crews in the neighborhood for the last few days, and I almost pitied the crane operator who’d missed out on half their lunch. I would have pitied them more if they’d actually cleaned the damn thing up. As it was, I had to drag Baxter for about three feet before he turned his attention to something else’s scent trail in the grass clumps between road and sidewalk. Mine blurred. I had a habit of zoning a little out on walks just enough to keep myself entertained with cinematic daydreams. The rest of my brain watched Baxter and acted on autopilot dog mode. It was part of why I didn’t register the woman squatting by a bush about twenty feet down street from us. Baxter did. He lunged forward, tail wagging, and nearly yanked me off my feet.

He was polite enough to wait until I was steady and restraining him to start barking, crouched low. The woman looked over at us then, her long black hair switching shoulders.

“I’m sorry. He’s friendly, he’s just loud.”

“What’s his name?”

“Baxter.”

“Hi Baxter! Does he like snakes?”

“I’m not sure he has an opinion on them.”

“Does he go after them?”

“Why, are you a snake? Sorry. No, he doesn’t.”

Her eyes crinkled in a smile, and I finally noticed what she was squatting over. It was a black rat snake, a big one. I reigned Baxter in close and wrestled to get a few feet closer for a better look.

“Well shit, I’ve never seen one of these guys in this part of the state.”

“She’s a black rat snake, they’re natural pest control and non-venomous.”

“Oh, I figured, I mean, I somewhat know local snakes. Girl Scouts."

I gave Bax a cookie to make him sit. The toe of the woman’s boot was less than an inch from the snake’s head.

“You got really close there, she doesn’t seem bothered at all.”

It was impressive.

“Well, unfortunately… that would be because she’s dead.”

It was slightly less impressive.

“It okay if I come closer with Bax?”

She nodded and looked down at her phone to tap something in. I brought Baxter close enough that he started sniffing around the woman’s feet, her legs, her crotch.

“Baxter! Baxter, sit. I’m so sorry.”

She laughed, “It’s okay. I have two at home.”

“He does it to everyone.”

“My lab goes up women’s skirts. Believe me, I understand.”

“It’s mortifying,” I agreed, crouching down, “She looks like she’s sleeping.”

Serene, not even coiled, the snake was half dappled in shade from an overgrown burning-bush. There were no wounds, no blood. She was simply still. I watched her sides intently, waiting to see even the smallest ripple of a breath. My eyes half invented movement, but my logic ruined the illusion for what it was. Mourning doves cooed somewhere down the street. Chickadees called. Someone fluttered in the canopies far overhead.

Baxter peed on the nearest mailbox.

“I wish snakes had eyelids.”

The woman glanced back at me from where she was texting again.

“It looks weird, right? I keep expecting her to startle. Her eyes aren’t even glazy like other dead snakes,” she said.

“That’s what I was just thinking. The eye part. With other dead things you can at least close the lids a little. In theory.”

“In theory?”

“I’ve never succeeded in closing anything’s eyes. Like birds. I start to try then give up. It feels too…I don’t know,” I trailed off.

Baxter sniffed everywhere around us, stepping over the snake to tangle his leash around my ankles.

“I think morticians use a hook?” She offered.

“On birds?”

“On people…morticians don’t do birds…do they?”

We sat on the thought for a moment, both watching the snake’s stillness. Baxter stuck his snout in my face, groaning impatiently. He mouthed at my glasses and nearly flung them to the ground. I planted a hand on the blacktop and pushed myself back to standing.

“Thanks for showing us the find. I’m Alice.”

“Oh! I’m Kal. I live around here.”

“I’m a few blocks over. You said you have dogs?”

“My parents do,” she glanced at her phone, “Oh good.”

Kal pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, dislodging a spare kibble in the process. Baxter lunged for the treat and snapped it up where it had fallen maybe a few centimeters from the snake’s head. I pulled him in closer as Kal bent down with her hand gloved in plastic and, gently, took a hold of the snake behind its head, scooping it a few vertebrae at a time into the bag. She tied it closed with a bow before turning her face back to mine. Her dark bangs were in her eyes.

I pet Baxter behind the ears.

“I just got confirmation from my lab that we can keep her. We have license for collection like this.”

“Your lab?”

“I work in conservation,” she answered, “and to your other question, I actually found her while I was walking Cable.”

“Cable?”

“My parents' lab. He didn’t notice her. I almost tripped.”

We both looked down at Baxter, whose whining was only increasing in volume.

“We have something common, then.”

“We do,” she looked at me for a long moment, “I’ll let you get back to your walk, but, if you live nearby, we’ll probably run into each other again.”

“I hope so.”

“Does Baxter like other dogs?”

“Off leash in a neutral zone, yeah.”

“Well maybe Cable and Baxter could do a playdate sometime. Do you go to the dog park?”

“Not a lot, but if you give me a time and date we could stop by. What’s your number?”

Baxter tugged at the end of his leash.

“Maybe just me yours and I’ll text you with my name?” Kal offered.

I spoke the numbers she wrote on her skin in pen. We waved one handed as we began walking in opposite directions.

Kal went leisurely. I went stumbling.

All the way home, I buzzed with possibility.