To hear Kathy tell it, the snake was the size of an anaconda that could swallow horses whole.

She exaggerated slightly.

My wife doesn’t like snakes. Or frogs. Or spiders. That can be a problem living in Lower Alabama. Especially when it has rained for the last two months. The damp conditions were perfect to foster a bumper crop of little green tree frogs, also known as “Barking Frogs” because of the loud sounds they make.

Personally, I like tree frogs. Not only do they look cool, they offer a nice benefit – tree frogs eat bugs, especially mosquitoes. It’s a darn shame they don’t eat Love bugs. They would have feasted last weekend.

At night, we close the blinds and watch the frogs as they swarm to the uncovered transoms and the front door. The interior lights attract bugs. For the frogs, it’s like a buffet. Hemingway, our cat, likes to “chase” the frogs. I’m not sure he has quite grasped the concept that the amphibians are on the other side of the glass and no matter how much he swats at them, he will never catch a frog.

When Marcus has to go outside and take care of business, I also make sure there are no frogs on the door, to eliminate the chance of one of them getting inside. Kathy about freaked earlier this summer when a toad hopped in the door. It didn’t help that both Marcus and Hemingway tried to chase it down.

Over the holiday weekend, a neighbor’s husband saw a snake in their yard. She immediately ordered all plants and snaky hiding places removed from the premises.

So it was no surprise to me that when Kathy moved a potted fern on the back porch, there was a small grass snake staying cool in the saucer. When it comes to snakes, size depends on the fear factor of the viewer. To me, it was small – maybe 8 inches long and smaller than my pinkie. To Kathy, it was too big. It could have been the size of a twist tie on a loaf of bread and it would have been too big for Kathy.

I got the text message and picture Wednesday morning. My sweet damsel was in distress. The castle was being attacked by vile reptiles. I tried to calm her down and give the snake a chance to get away. Instead, the snake met Kathy’s hoe. Instead of one BIG snake that moved, she created three small ones that had long quit wiggling by the time I got home that afternoon.

The remains were in the grass, under the overturned saucer. Ants had already begun devouring it. Kathy wondered if it was poisonous. It took me a while to find what was left of the head. The narrow head confirmed my suspicions. It wasn’t a bad snake, but it was a dead snake. I tossed it over the fence.

Of course, now Marcus can’t go out to pee or poo without and armed escort. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Kathy, hoe in hand, hustling behind a large dog who was hustling to find just the right spot.

William Moore is the Senior Editor at Gulf Coast Newspapers. He can be reached at wmoore@gulfcoastnewspapers.com