A close encouter of the slithery kind

Fall is most definitely here -- regardless of what the calender might say.

The evenings are starting to cool down, the oppressive heat of two weeks ago seems to be a thing of the past, football is on the television on a nearly nightly basis and the first major hunting season has opened.

Brad and I took my youngest son out to enjoy the first day of dove hunting. We also took our golden retriever, Max, along with us.

We'd never hunted Max before. We got him when he was about 3 years old and he seemed to have a few skills -- after all, he's never once killed any of the toads, baby rabbits or birds he has delivered to the front door over the past two years.

Just to be on the safe side, we took a leash with us to make sure he didn't run off too far. One thing was for sure, he enjoyed being out in the open fields.

We weren't sure how he would react to the sound of the shotguns -- during a thunderstorm he usually ends up in the lap of the nearest human -- but after the first shot, we realized he knew what guns were all about.

Unfortunately, he needs to hone his retrieving skills. Brad and Jeremy did most of the shooting that day since the third gun had broken -- so the job of dogsitting was mine. The guys had relatively good luck that morning, shooting about a dozen birds.

Max and I went and found the birds, (Brad is now affectionately referring to me as his second golden retriever.)

As we set along the bank of the little farm pond, Max began getting excited, nearly yanking me out of my seat to go and retrieve some critter he had heard in the distance. But being the cruel master that I am, I kept him securely attached to my wrist.

After about five minutes of fighting with him, I glanced to my side. About 10 feet away a four-foot snake was slithering toward the water.

"Brad," I whispered as though speaking out loud might draw its attention. "SNAKE!" I yelled, forgetting my original fear.

Brad immediately jumped to his feet. "What kind is it?" he asked me. Like that would matter.

"I don't know," I told him. "Does it matter?"

Turns out it was a rattler, and unlike the other snakes I've encountered, my white knight quickly disposed of the little critter.

A friend and I were swapping "what I found in my house" stories the other day and I've decided that a snake may not be the most unwelcome wildlife one can find in their home. It seems this friend was cleaning a seldom used area of her house in preparation for visitors. She had made up the bed, done her dusting, and was preparing to clean the bathroom. She went into the bathroom and noticed what appeared to be a black piece of paper floating in the toilet.

On closer investigation, she quickly discovered that the black piece of paper was actually a bat that had obviously ignored the dangers of drowning in order to enjoy a refreshing drink of toilet water.

I've been giving her a hard time -- I may have snakes in my cellar, but I can honestly say I've never once had bats in my belfry.

-- Gloria Masoner is outdoor editor for the McCook Daily Gazette.