At my old house, killing snakes was at least a monthly occurrence.
There was the one time my Dad showed up, walked up the porch steps, immediately started jumping around and yelling, “JENNA, SNAKE!”
It was wrapped around a porch chair, hissing.
I killed it with a hoe.
And there was the one that liked to live inside my roof on the back of the house. Every once in a while, it would stick its head out and I could see it from the kitchen window – I could never catch him.
And then once, as I was walking down the stairs, talking to my cousin on the phone, I was met by a snake in the middle of the living room floor. I hung up, killed the snake, then called her back two minutes later.
She answered asking if I was ok. Of course, it was just a snake.
It was a nearly 100 year old farm house with lots of holes – what did you expect?
Luckily, we don’t really have any snakes to deal with around here.
Except pretty gold ones – made into a bowl.