A Spring Sighting ...

My father used to always say:

Spring has sprung.
The grass has riz.
I wonder where the birdies is.

(I get my love of poetry from Daddy.)

So, inspired by the rhyming word, I ventured out into our courtyard garden to do a little first of the season weeding. It was then I saw it - a snake skin. I guess the slithering creatures somehow or other shed their skins like we ladies peel off our panty hose.

Since I'm not a big fan of these critters, I ran into the house to fetch my husband, Bruce. He was balancing the checkbook. He's not a fan of that, so willingly set it aside to assist his semi-distraught wife. Out we go, me following closely behind in the event I need to climb his body like a ladder and balance on his shoulders, should we see the owner of said skin pass by.

Bruce gets close, too close for my taste. He looks, he sees, he starts laughing. When a woman sees the man she loves guffawing in the face of venomous death, well, she just puffs up with pride at his pure and massive bravery. I am about to praise my personal hero when he says, "Oh darling," quite casual-like. Despite his giggles, his voice is not trembling with fear in any fashion.

"Yes, my conqueror of the universe."

"That's no snake skin. That's the sheathing off the old bungee cord you used last year to secure the trellis to the fence."

I stand firm. "Is too!"

"Look here," he defends. "Look at the rusty S-hook where you connected both ends."

Rats! He's right. BUT, since I thought this "skin" was the real deal, I give myself mucho points toward my reptile aversion therapy. Bruce, negative 3 in the hero department.