Florence, Colorado: Police Officers & A Sneaky Rattlesnake

Update: This blog post was originally posted here on 9-13-14. Since we've recently seen yet another example of the Florence Police Department's heroics (on Feb. 6, 2017 with the bomb scare in downtown Florence) I thought this blog post from over two years ago would be a nice reminder of what our men and woman in blue do for us--in this slightly humorous look at police vs. a sneaky rattlesnake.

p.s. Shortly before Christmas of 2014 I semi-anonymously dropped a gift bag of Trader Joe snacks and candy at the Florence Police Department to thank these unknown officers. No, there were no donuts in the gift bag--just a whole lot of gratitude.

Duct Tape: One of Law Enforcement's Finest Tools In Snake Wrangling

I came home after a long day's work at an antique store on Florence's Main Street. For those of you who don't know, Florence Colorado is a friendly, small town that is also the Antiques Capital of Colorado. And for those of you who don't know: Florence is also home to one of the finest police forces. I should know--I've had enough interactions with them in my few short years here. 

And for those who don't know: Florence has quite the bunch of animals alternately amusing and scaring the heck out of some of its residents.

I put my feet up and heard a few crackling noises. I didn't think much of it. We had had a mouse in the free-standing pine cupboard in our kitchen a few weeks ago. One day when I went to get some dog food out of the cupboard, I scared the mouse and it flew onto me, as we both screamed and both went running for cover. I figured the mouse was back.

But the rustling noises were so persistent, I finally called upon my mellow Collie and feisty (but chicken)  Terrier to be of some use, other than being adorable and loyal, and check out the noises. Both pooches dutifully went into the kitchen and the Collie looked alarmed and herded something, possibly by the kitchen sink.

I went back to relaxing. Got dinner on. My husband came home from a really long day at work and we settled in to watch Sleepy Hollow.    I heard a crackling noise, grabbed the remote to turn the TV down and asked my husband, "What is that noise?"   

I still had the remote in my hand when he got up and yelled, "My gosh! There's a rattlesnake under the bookcase!"

Always calm under pressure, he told me to get the dogs into the bedroom. Of course, they were timidly walking towards the little serpent. We all ran to the bedroom. Well, not my husband. I'll call my husband, Dirk.

Dirk, stood in the living room staring at where he last saw the snake disappear under the bookcase. I hissed, from the bedroom, "Call 911! And come to the bedroom NOW!."

I'm calm (in my actions) in threatening situations--but I tend to flap my arms like a bird and hiss a lot when a mouse jumps out of a cupboard on me, or when a rattlesnake rattles for at least 30 seconds under any of my furniture.

"Call 911!"

Dirk attempted to get Siri (or whatever the heck that lady's name is on the I-phone) to get the non-emergency number for Florence Police Department. But he refuses to run like a chicken to the bedroom and tells me he needs to see where the snake is and if it stays in place. Our conversation goes like this:

Dirk: Find Florence Police Department.

Siri: I've found two police departments. Do you want me to call emergency services?

Me: It's a damn emergency! Tell Siri to call 911. Or better yet--you do it!

Dirk: Find Florence Police Department.

Siri: I've found two police departments. Do you want me to call emergency services?

Me: Call 911 right now or I'll strike worse than a rattlesnake.

Dirk is finally compelled by my hysterical tones to call 911. If my phone hadn't been too close to the snake, I would have called 911 without getting Siri involved. Dirk later told me that he was trying to call non-emergency because he didn't want to get chastised for calling 911 for a questionable reason. I wonder what would have qualified for an emergency in Dirk's opinion? Godzilla busting through our roof? An escapee from Super Max knocking on our door and asking for cupcakes, a change of clothes and traveling money? 

Officers from Florence Police Department arrive a few moments later. I peek my head out of the bedroom door and saw two uniformed officers. I somehow expected them to have big leather gloves, I guess like the kind you use to train falcons and perhaps a beekeeper's headgear and some boots. And maybe a snake-catching hook. I see nothing of the sort and yell at one of the officers," Do you have some type of tools or equipment?"

One officer chuckles, "Nope. The only tool I have is a lack of common sense."

My adrenalin levels were so high that I seem to remember mumbling something to Dirk about having concerns that they aren't trained for this--and where the heck is someone from wildlife or the humane society, or the snake wrangling society.

The officer assures me that he can handle this and I tell him I am just concerned for their safety. After all, I had stuffed clothes and plastic under the bedroom door cracks in case something went wrong.

I decide to close the door and keep my semi-hysteria to myself and let Florence's finest do their job. After all, Dirk is watching out for them. Dirk later confided that he would have done the snake wrangling himself, with possibly the help of a male friend a few blocks away, but he knew I would not permit that. He got that right!

I have the bedroom door shut and nearly hermetically sealed, But I do hear the officer ask if we have a wire coat hanger. The words are barely out his mouth and I'm flinging a wire coat hanger down the hallway. I then ask if a metal trash can would help. "It sure would," the officer answers.

I fling that like a hockey puck down the hallway and this time keep the door closed.

I hear some rattling. I'm quivering and consider yelling,"Just shoot the darn snake, I don't care about my house or belongings!" I shut my mouth. And in case you don't know--I get upset if I accidentally step on a snail and am a member of the ASPCA and the Humane Society. So, killing a snake is not first on my list of options.

I hear more rattling. Then the officer, the lead snake wrangler, screamed an expletive. "Oh, pardon my French."

"Don't worry," Dirk muttered, "I've said a lot worse."

This is not going well, so I stuff more things under the door and another expletive is heard. I'm actually thinking more and worse expletives in my thoughts than the officer could ever utter.

More rattling, thumping and then silence. I decided to pull up my big girl panties and see what's going on.

The officer said," Hey, do you have any duct tape? And hey, what about a piece of cardboard box?"

Ah, the high-tech world of snake wrangling.Dirk runs to the garage to trim some cardboard. I'm still shivering in the bedroom and finally get enough guts to see what is going on.

Ah, the officer and lead snake handler is proudly crouched by a large vintage Quality Candies tin that we use as a trash can. He is holding down a neatly trimmed piece of cardboard and waiting for Dirk to bring some duct tape.

Now, I purchased this candy tin (now a snake cage) from a fellow antique dealer who used to work at the same shop as I did. And come to think of it, I also purchased the lovely pine bookcase the snake was hiding under from her. We no longer work at the same antique store, but she still works downtown in the trade--so I think I'll have to pay her a visit this weekend and tell her to take her voodoo hex snake powder curse off the two items I purchased from her that were involved in the rattlesnake battle.

The officer, whom I will now refer to as, Officer Hero, was smiling and asked me if I'd like to take a peek at the rattlesnake before the cardboard got taped down.

"Thanks, but heck no!"

"Oh, come on," he cajoled," Curiosity will get the best of you!"

"No, it won't," I screeched.

Seeing my obvious agitation and lingering affects of adrenalin, he decided to comfort me with the information that there were a lot of rattlesnakes around here. Well, I'll be darned. We live in a newer house in the developed part of Florence. Certainly not on farmland or in the more rural areas.

Dirk brought in the duct tape. Officer Hero and the other two officers--I did not notice until I calmed down that there were three officers-- did a bang up job of duct taping the cardboard to the candy tin.

I ask all of them what I can do for them, since I am grateful for what they did. "Nothing, we get paid for this," one of the other officers replied.

You don't get paid enough, I am thinking. I was thinking along the lines of buying tickets for the Policeman's Ball, if Florence even has such a thing, or donating to some police charity--but am too rattled (pun intended) to pursue that idea.

"Okay," Officer Hero said," We'll take care of the snake and be back to return the tin later. And if it's too late and you're not up, we'll just leave it on the porch."

"Oh, I think I'll be up most of the night after this."

Officer Hero was truly fantastic. He had attempted to get the snake by just blindly scooping at it with the hanger and then later this hook-type thing called a Thera-Cane that one uses to reach sore spots in places you can't reach.

Dirk later told me Officer Hero and the other officers didn't wish to move the bookcase because they were afraid of breaking things. Of course, Dirk told them that people were more important than our things.

So, right before the officers left to take care of the rattler, he had the other two move the bookcase back. It turns out Officer Hero is a bit of an interior decorator. He told the other two officers after they moved the bookcase back, "Hey, that's not centered!"

They immediately centered it.

If you look at the above picture, blurry as it is, due to Dirk still being a bit rattled when taking the picture, in the foreground is a pile of dust bunnies. As I came staggering out of the bedroom that's the first thing I noticed before the snake  candy tin. "Oh my God," I yelled," Are those dust bunnies?! On top of this, do I have to be embarrassed in front of the police due to dust bunnies?"

Dirk later told me the officers were going to release the sneaky serpent back into the wild.

I asked Dirk what all the mild cussing and noises were. "Oh, the snake just kept escaping and striking at him."

"Oh, is that all?"

I asked Officer Hero if he'd ever done this before. "Unfortunately, I've done it a few times."

Officer Hero grabbed the tin, which was rattling louder than a tambourine.

And that kids, is why the Florence Police Department is great. It really helps to have an officer with the same twisted sense of humor I have.

Dirk later told me that Officer Hero was teasing me about showing me the snake, because if he lifted the lid it would have continued striking at him. 

So, next time you see one of Florence's finest--raise your respect and a roll of duct tape for all they do. 

There Is Only One Punishment For Ariana Grande, Donut Licker

Ah, if only I were a judge and I could mete out the punishment if pop star Ariana Grande is indeed guilty of "maliciously licking" a donut in a Los Angeles area donut shop.

There really is only one truly appropriate punishment. I usually go to ETSY to punish myself by looking at some of the unusual handmade fashions on that site. Why shouldn't alleged donut licker Ariana also be tortured as I am--a person who has never publicly licked a donut.

If I were a judge I would sentence her to one year of wearing these.

Only $49 bucks at ETSY. Sooo sexy. I'd make her order the jumbo size. After all, according to her, Americans are into jumbo sizes. Apparently after a donut shop worker walked by with a tray of jumbo donuts, Ariana chirped through her sugary lips, "What the F... is that? I hate Americans. I hate America."

Tssk, Tssk. Even 22-year-old pop stars should clean up their potty mouths. After all her potty mouth might kiss her mother someday, or lick an innocent donut.

Have some class. Even I don't say WTF out loud, even when I am thinking it about donut-slobbering pop stars. Instead I say this:

OK, my sentence doesn't end there. The ETSY donut undies don't totally do the trick, even though some pop stars wear their undies in public--and lick donuts in public.

I'd make her wear these also.

Another ETSY delight.

Well, heck, there are so many donut fashions at ETSY, it wouldn't be difficult to make Ariana wear donut fashions for that year sentence.

I understand Ariana has a new boyfriend. She might not if she shows up wearing this ETSY beauty.

Rocky Mountain Sigh: Death-Defying Trip To Canon City's Skyline Drive Part 2

We were all enjoying the dinosaur trackway at Canon City's Skyline Drive. I decided that nearly getting thrown over the side of the cliff and nearly getting blown over in a porta-pottie was not going to rain on my parade--or anyone else's parade.

Crack! A bolt of lightening shreeks. OK, I lied. I'm afraid of four things: Clown collectibles, heights, porta-potties and lightening. I have reason to be afraid of lightening. A lightening fireball blew through our window swamp cooler once and nearly got me. And the lightening also blew a chunk out of the road in front of our house before totally frying our SUV. But that's another story. And honestly folks, Colorado is wonderful. Even for chickens like me.

Granny was also afraid of lightening. My husband and teenager, not so much. I start jogging towards the car. Slowly. Teenager is not afraid and is ambling. Granny is scared, but still had her sprained ankle wrapped from a previous incident (not in Colorado) and is also ambling, but with a look of fear on her face.

Crack! This time the lightening appears to be hitting just feet in front of us, right in the road.

"We've got to get the the car," Granny gasped.

I cheerfully reply," I just saw something on the local news, where even one's car is not totally safe in a lightening storm." I then proceed to tell her our SUV was fried in front of our home, thankfully without us in it--but if we would have been--adios!

I certainly know how to show company a good time.

Crack! Another close strike. This time I grab my husband's arm and slightly run towards the car.

I yell over my shoulder to the company," That's what John Denver meant when he sung, Rocky Mountain High! 'I've seen it rain fire in the sky.'"

Granny, her face as pale as a Colorado ice field replied," Oh my God! I've heard that song a million times and I never made the connection. That's what it means!"

Of course, she'd never been stuck in a lightening storm on a thin road, trying to dodge cars as we raced to our car.

I linked my husband's arm again and sang to him off-key," Rocky Mountain Die!!! First I nearly get knocked over the side, then blown away in a porta-pottie and now I am dodging lightening strikes. Rocky Mountain Die!!! I've seen it raining fire in the sky! You sure know how to show a girl a good time!"

He was snickering so lavishly that he barely could make it to the car. Company didn't hear my rendition of Rocky Mountain High.

OK, we know I'm a sissy pants. But what do other people (besides company) who were split down the middle (thankfully NOT by lightening) think about Skyline Drive?

I took a two-second trip over to TripAdvisor. Now poo, poo that a bazillion people thought Skyline Drive was the best thing since sliced bread. Of course, I'm going to hone in on the most hilarious review of Skyline Drive, which goes something like this:

"Be very afraid! One false move on this nightmare of a road and you will tumble to your death. Once you commit, there's no turning around. THERE IS NO ROOM TO TURN AROUND! The ground drops off hundreds of feet just inches from your vehicle on both sides Thirty seconds after starting up the ridge, I knew I had made a terrible mistake. 

I'm not kidding about this. I'm a 54 year man, I have a pilot's license, and I've jumped out of an airplane - but driving Skyline Drive was the most terrifying experience of my life! My hands were shaking on the steering wheel and I could feel my heart pounding. I started talking to myself, "Don't look down,don't look down". I was convinced I was going to lose control of my vehicle. I had to will myself to keep going. Thank God there was no one behind me.

I don't know how many deaths there have been on this road, but to me, taking your family on this road is utter lunacy. I'm Libertarian by nature, but I would ban children from vehicles on Skyline Drive."

Oh my goodness! I'm not a 54-year-old man, but I am a sissy at times. I used to jump horses and go up in two-seater planes. But Skyline Drive kicked my butt. And I, too, am a Libertarian by nature!

For those who aren't familiar with Libertarians (Ron Paul is one) it basically is someone who thinks people have the right to be as stupid as they want, as long as they aren't endangering others.

Yeah, Skyline Drive even kicks hearty Libertarian butts!

Seriously, I do recommend Skyline Drive for a fun and free way to scare the hell out of yourself and company. The views are spectacular. Just make sure there is no lightening predicted. Make sure you are wearing an adult diaper or empty your bladder before you go, so you can avoid swaying porta-potties. And make sure other passengers in your car all open the doors when no one is standing by the edge.

As if all that wasn't exciting enough. I discovered--after I did the Rocky Mountain Sigh and defied death on Skyline Drive--that there is wonderful self-guided tour brochure on Skyline Drive. I have the brochure and it is great with directions, history and pictures. The Self-Guided Heritage tours were developed by the Fremont County Heritage Commission and the Fremont County Tourism Council. The brochures are free and can be found at museums and Chambers of Commerce in Fremont County. If you can't find the brochure in person, it's easy to go to www.fremontheritage.com and download it for free.

Well, hats off to the Fremont County Heritage Commission for excellent brochures. I'll be referring to others of their informative brochures in future blog posts when I share yet another Rocky Mountain Sigh day trip in Colorado.

WTF! Yes, if I can survive Skyline Drive, you can too!

Rocky Mountain Sigh: Death-Defying Trip To Canon City's Skyline Drive - PART 1

In addition to mocking clown collectibles, collecting unusual true stories--I like to shine a spotlight on all the fun things to do in Colorado.

Colorful Colorado is one of the prettiest and most interesting states in the Union. I've been to 43 states and all of them are great--but Colorado, in my opinion towers above the rest.

I love cheap and fun day trips in Colorado. After moving to Colorado over 20 years ago, we've rarely taken a vacation outside of the state, because it would take a lifetime to drink in all the beauty of this state.

Today's fun trip is: Skyline Drive, just west of Canon City on Highway 50.

My history with Skyline Drive is angst-filled. I ain't afraid of much in this life except clown collectibles and heights. Several years ago, company came from California and my husband decided Skyline Drive was a must-do.

My husband has a maniacal streak. He once commented that he'd love to take his mother on Skyline Drive, since she's really afraid of heights. Really afraid--not just semi-hysterical as I am. Fortunately or unfortunately she hasn't visited us in Colorado yet.

A friend about our age was delighted with the idea of going up a one-way road with NO guard rails and sheer drops on either side. I was literally hyperventilating. My husband's solution was to immediately take a second trip up Skyline to get me over my fear. It worked a little--since I am a reasonable person when my hands aren't wrapped around someone's neck and shock therapy can be a good thing.

That was about six years ago. Well, a few days ago--another crop of company arrived. Of course, my husband thought Skyline Drive was a good thing to show them. One of our company was a teenaged-girl who had never been to Colorado. The other was her grandmother, who has been to Colorado.

The teenager was gun-ho. Granny was not. She cleared her throat, "I'm a bit afraid of heights also."

That didn't stop my husband.

I decided to pull up my big-girl panties for the sake of company and my sanity. I took deep breaths and am doing fairly well and almost enjoying the spectacular scenery while chanting under my breath that guard rails are a good thing.

Granny is horrified.

We stopped at the big pull-out at the top of the ridge. There is about two feet space from the car and a sheer drop. But we all decided to park so we could walk back to the dinosaur trackway.

The dinosaur trackway boasts layers that tell an interesting story of geology and history with the tracks made by 30-foot long Ankylosuars. There are also burrows and other traces of ancient clams, worms and shrimp. Yum! Too bad there's not a Red Lobster in Fremont County.

I opened my door and the teenager, sitting in the back seat with her ear pods and/or smart phone in hand, didn't see me and opened her door at full swing. She smacked me so hard in the hip and rump that I nearly toppled over the side of the sheer drop.

Of course, she was apologetic. So apologetic for so many hours, that I told her that I KNOW she didn't do it on purpose and that it's stuff like that, that memories are made of. I mean, if one went on a trip and didn't have a near-disaster or two--one would not remember it on one's deathbed, would one?

I didn't tell the teenager that she whacked me so hard that my butt and hip were throbbing for hours.

I was trying not to wet my big-girl panties as I ran across the drive to the lone porta-pottie. OK, I lied. I have three fears--clown collectibles, heights and OUTHOUSES or porta-potties. I'd rather bust my bladder that use a porta-pottie. But I had no choice.

So I limped into the porta-pottie and did my business swaying above the seat. Well, at that exact moment a huge wind gust came up and rocked the pottie so much that I almost fell over.

I nearly escaped getting tossed over the side by a big whack in the arse, and now to be blown away in a stinky porta-pottie? I lept out of the pottie and joined the others at the dinosaur trackway.

Two scary experiences. Well, three--if you include the scariness of a tiny road and sheer drops.

Surely there would not be yet another scary experience on Skyline Drive, would there?

CONTINUED IN PART 2

Yes, if I can survive Skyline Drive, you can too!

The Real Reason Barbie & Ken Never Married Or Had Children Or Sex

Well, I don't know for sure why Barbie and Ken never married and/or had children or maybe even had sex. But I think I have a really good idea why. As you know, I despise clown collectibles and fashions.

I'm not sure if Barbie or Ken did it first. But it happened in the early 1960s when Barbie and Ken were quite young.

I have proof. And as usual, ETSY provides the proof that there is not only a clown fashion scourge among all peoples, classes, nations and dolls--but especially for poor Barbie and Ken.

You can actually purchase this crochet pattern on ETSY to make Barbie look like a sexy clown. Circa 1963.

The only problem is that Ken didn't find this look so sexy.

But Barbie didn't really give a clown crap what Ken thought. If he thought this outfit was cool...well, Barbie could do better.

Ken, Ken, Ken! You should have just kept your clown mask on, so Barbie wouldn't have recognized you.

Now, Ken might have found this current clown/circus fashion a little more sexy-- available on ETSY.
But maybe not. The model looks clown-death warmed over.

See, clown and circus fashions can cause depression, decrease libido and wreck the future of Barbie and Ken.

The Queen of Questionable Taste (also known as The Clown Collectibles Mocker) spends her spare time dusting her clown collectibles hoard with a clown-colored feather duster clenched between her butt cheeks for aerobic exercise and for penance of not joining the rest of the world in loving clown collectibles and fashions.

The Clown Collectibles Mocker: Creepy Clown Cakes

Creepy clown collectibles are overtaking the world. Fellow clown collectibles mockers should get a kick out of this hilarious website: http://www.cakewrecks.com/home/2011/4/6/the-incredible-non-edible-plastic-clown-head.html?currentPage=2

Cake Wrecks.com is approved by the blog owner of True Story Club (aka The Clown Collectibles Mocker.) They don't just make fun of clown cake wrecks, but the fact that they know about the toxic horror of the incredible, non-edible plastic clown heads make my Respect-O-Meter twitch with delight.

The Clown Collectibles Mocker (also known as The Queen of Questionable Taste) spends too much time mocking clown collectibles and clown fashions, accessories and jewelry. In her spare time, she dusts her clown collectibles collection with a clown-colored feather duster clenched between her butt cheeks. Why? Because she can. And because it's good aerobic exercise. The Clown Collectibles Mocker doesn't mock real clowns or people (in public) and hopes that if people run across their handiwork or items on this blog, they realize it is a high honor and just in fun.

Florence Colorado's Finest: Officer, There's A Rattlesnake In My House!

Duct Tape: One of Law Enforcement's Finest Tools In Snake Wrangling

I came home after a long day's work at an antique store on Florence's Main Street. For those of you who don't know, Florence Colorado is a friendly, small town that is also the Antiques Capital of Colorado. And for those of you who don't know: Florence is also home to one of the finest police forces. I should know--I've had enough interactions with them in my few short years here. 

And for those who don't know: Florence has quite the bunch of animals alternately amusing and scaring the heck out of some of its residents.

I put my feet up and heard a few crackling noises. I didn't think much of it. We had had a mouse in the free-standing pine cupboard in our kitchen a few weeks ago. One day when I went to get some dog food out of the cupboard, I scared the mouse and it flew onto me, as we both screamed and both went running for cover. I figured the mouse was back.

But the rustling noises were so persistent, I finally called upon my mellow Collie and feisty (but chicken)  Terrier to be of some use, other than being adorable and loyal, and check out the noises. Both pooches dutifully went into the kitchen and the Collie looked alarmed and herded something, possibly by the kitchen sink.

I went back to relaxing. Got dinner on. My husband came home from a really long day at work and we settled in to watch Sleepy Hollow.    I heard a crackling noise, grabbed the remote to turn the TV down and asked my husband, "What is that noise?"   

I still had the remote in my hand when he got up and yelled, "My gosh! There's a rattlesnake under the bookcase!"

Always calm under pressure, he told me to get the dogs into the bedroom. Of course, they were timidly walking towards the little serpent. We all ran to the bedroom. Well, not my husband. I'll call my husband, Dirk.

Dirk, stood in the living room staring at where he last saw the snake disappear under the bookcase. I hissed, from the bedroom, "Call 911! And come to the bedroom NOW!."

I'm calm (in my actions) in threatening situations--but I tend to flap my arms like a bird and hiss a lot when a mouse jumps out of a cupboard on me, or when a rattlesnake rattles for at least 30 seconds under any of my furniture.

"Call 911!"

Dirk attempted to get Siri (or whatever the heck that lady's name is on the I-phone) to get the non-emergency number for Florence Police Department. But he refuses to run like a chicken to the bedroom and tells me he needs to see where the snake is and if it stays in place. Our conversation goes like this:

Dirk: Find Florence Police Department.

Siri: I've found two police departments. Do you want me to call emergency services?

Me: It's a damn emergency! Tell Siri to call 911. Or better yet--you do it!

Dirk: Find Florence Police Department.

Siri: I've found two police departments. Do you want me to call emergency services?

Me: Call 911 right now or I'll strike worse than a rattlesnake.

Dirk is finally compelled by my hysterical tones to call 911. If my phone hadn't been too close to the snake, I would have called 911 without getting Siri involved. Dirk later told me that he was trying to call non-emergency because he didn't want to get chastised for calling 911 for a questionable reason. I wonder what would have qualified for an emergency in Dirk's opinion? Godzilla busting through our roof? An escapee from Super Max knocking on our door and asking for cupcakes, a change of clothes and traveling money? 

Officers from Florence Police Department arrive a few moments later. I peek my head out of the bedroom door and saw two uniformed officers. I somehow expected them to have big leather gloves, I guess like the kind you use to train falcons and perhaps a beekeeper's headgear and some boots. And maybe a snake-catching hook. I see nothing of the sort and yell at one of the officers," Do you have some type of tools or equipment?"

One officer chuckles, "Nope. The only tool I have is a lack of common sense."

My adrenalin levels were so high that I seem to remember mumbling something to Dirk about having concerns that they aren't trained for this--and where the heck is someone from wildlife or the humane society, or the snake wrangling society.

The officer assures me that he can handle this and I tell him I am just concerned for their safety. After all, I had stuffed clothes and plastic under the bedroom door cracks in case something went wrong.

I decide to close the door and keep my semi-hysteria to myself and let Florence's finest do their job. After all, Dirk is watching out for them. Dirk later confided that he would have done the snake wrangling himself, with possibly the help of a male friend a few blocks away, but he knew I would not permit that. He got that right!

I have the bedroom door shut and nearly hermetically sealed, But I do hear the officer ask if we have a wire coat hanger. The words are barely out his mouth and I'm flinging a wire coat hanger down the hallway. I then ask if a metal trash can would help. "It sure would," the officer answers.

I fling that like a hockey puck down the hallway and this time keep the door closed.

I hear some rattling. I'm quivering and consider yelling,"Just shoot the darn snake, I don't care about my house or belongings!" I shut my mouth. And in case you don't know--I get upset if I accidentally step on a snail and am a member of the ASPCA and the Humane Society. So, killing a snake is not first on my list of options.

I hear more rattling. Then the officer, the lead snake wrangler, screamed an expletive. "Oh, pardon my French."

"Don't worry," Dirk muttered, "I've said a lot worse."

This is not going well, so I stuff more things under the door and another expletive is heard. I'm actually thinking more and worse expletives in my thoughts than the officer could ever utter.

More rattling, thumping and then silence. I decided to pull up my big girl panties and see what's going on.

The officer said," Hey, do you have any duct tape? And hey, what about a piece of cardboard box?"

Ah, the high-tech world of snake wrangling.Dirk runs to the garage to trim some cardboard. I'm still shivering in the bedroom and finally get enough guts to see what is going on.

Ah, the officer and lead snake handler is proudly crouched by a large vintage Quality Candies tin that we use as a trash can. He is holding down a neatly trimmed piece of cardboard and waiting for Dirk to bring some duct tape.

Now, I purchased this candy tin (now a snake cage) from a fellow antique dealer who used to work at the same shop as I did. And come to think of it, I also purchased the lovely pine bookcase the snake was hiding under from her. We no longer work at the same antique store, but she still works downtown in the trade--so I think I'll have to pay her a visit this weekend and tell her to take her voodoo hex snake powder curse off the two items I purchased from her that were involved in the rattlesnake battle.

The officer, whom I will now refer to as, Officer Hero, was smiling and asked me if I'd like to take a peek at the rattlesnake before the cardboard got taped down.

"Thanks, but heck no!"

"Oh, come on," he cajoled," Curiosity will get the best of you!"

"No, it won't," I screeched.

Seeing my obvious agitation and lingering affects of adrenalin, he decided to comfort me with the information that there were a lot of rattlesnakes around here. Well, I'll be darned. We live in a newer house in the developed part of Florence. Certainly not on farmland or in the more rural areas.

Dirk brought in the duct tape. Officer Hero and the other two officers--I did not notice until I calmed down that there were three officers-- did a bang up job of duct taping the cardboard to the candy tin.

I ask all of them what I can do for them, since I am grateful for what they did. "Nothing, we get paid for this," one of the other officers replied.

You don't get paid enough, I am thinking. I was thinking along the lines of buying tickets for the Policeman's Ball, if Florence even has such a thing, or donating to some police charity--but am too rattled (pun intended) to pursue that idea.

"Okay," Officer Hero said," We'll take care of the snake and be back to return the tin later. And if it's too late and you're not up, we'll just leave it on the porch."

"Oh, I think I'll be up most of the night after this."

Officer Hero was truly fantastic. He had attempted to get the snake by just blindly scooping at it with the hanger and then later this hook-type thing called a Thera-Cane that one uses to reach sore spots in places you can't reach.

Dirk later told me Officer Hero and the other officers didn't wish to move the bookcase because they were afraid of breaking things. Of course, Dirk told them that people were more important than our things.

So, right before the officers left to take care of the rattler, he had the other two move the bookcase back. It turns out Officer Hero is a bit of an interior decorator. He told the other two officers after they moved the bookcase back, "Hey, that's not centered!"

They immediately centered it.

If you look at the above picture, blurry as it is, due to Dirk still being a bit rattled when taking the picture, in the foreground is a pile of dust bunnies. As I came staggering out of the bedroom that's the first thing I noticed before the snake  candy tin. "Oh my God," I yelled," Are those dust bunnies?! On top of this, do I have to be embarrassed in front of the police due to dust bunnies?"

Dirk later told me the officers were going to release the sneaky serpent back into the wild.

I asked Dirk what all the mild cussing and noises were. "Oh, the snake just kept escaping and striking at him."

"Oh, is that all?"

I asked Officer Hero if he'd ever done this before. "Unfortunately, I've done it a few times."

Officer Hero grabbed the tin, which was rattling louder than a tambourine.

And that kids, is why the Florence Police Department is great. It really helps to have an officer with the same twisted sense of humor I have.

Dirk later told me that Officer Hero was teasing me about showing me the snake, because if he lifted the lid it would have continued striking at him. 

So, next time you see one of Florence's finest--raise your respect and a roll of duct tape for all they do.                                

Tales From The World's Smallest Daily Newspaper: Oh, Snap! He Came Out Swinging More Than His Towel

Everyone who is tired of reading and hearing about the stereotypical danger breeds of dogs, raise your paws. Aha!

I suffered through a true story that proves just about any type of breed of dog may be hazardous to one's health--and in this case, one's modesty.

At one time my husband and I lived in a small apartment above our landlord's house. The landlord's family owned an English bulldog. I'll call the bulldog Max. Max, of course, is not his real name, since I wish to save the pooch and his family any embarrassment. But come to think of it, it was my family that suffered some embarrassment.

It was a hot summer day. Corning, California was a hot place decades ago and still is. We had our front door open since there was no cooling system in the apartment.  Max came galloping up the stairs into the living room. He did that every so often just to be friendly.

This time it was different. The landlord allowed no pets. Why, I have no idea. They had a pet. And the apartment was, well, just a touch dumpy. We had two dogs that we boarded with my mother in the country. Every couple of months, we'd bring our favorite dog, Guido (his real name) to the apartment to visit for a few hours.

Guido (long gone to dog heaven) was a small mutt, who though full-grown, looked like a puppy. Max ran through the doorway and pounced on Guido. I don't believe Max was on a killing mission; I believe he was simply shocked that there was a dog in our apartment when there had never been one there on his previous, impromptu visits. But the attack was a bit scary.

I tried reasoning with Max--then yelling. Just as I was panicking, a teenager, the girlfriend of the landlord's son, came bounding up the stairs after the missing dog.

She, too, screamed and attempted to separate the snarling dogs to no avail.

I yelled to my husband who was in the bathroom taking a shower. He couldn't hear what I was saying, just the semi-hysterical tone of my voice.

He was so intent on rescuing Guido that he didn't notice the girl in our living room. Yep, he came out of the bathroom swinging more than his towel. He snapped his towel and bellowed at the dogs, which startled Max enough to let loose of Guido.

Apparently swinging more that his towel shocked the girl enough to run out of our living room, bulldog in tow, without a word to either of us.

OK, at the time I was a writer for a small-town newspaper. I might have mentioned this incident in my weekly column the next week. Of course, I changed all the names.

This was in the days before the Internet, but it didn't take long for reaction to come in. People started stopping by the newspaper office giving me the thumbs up, leering and chuckling. So far, the response was 100 percent positive, until THE GIRL showed up at the office hinting my head needed to be pounded into the pavement.

We were standing outside the newspaper office, since she requested I step outside. I had no idea she wanted to step outside into the alley so there would be no witnesses.

Her: Why the f--- did you print that? she screamed.

Me: Because it was funny. And I hate to tell you this, not much happens in this town, or my life for that matter, and we are always looking for newsy tidbits to fill up the paper.

Her: Well, the story NEVER F--ing happened.

Me: Well, it did. I was there. You were there. But I didn't even mention your name--or the dog's name for that matter.

Her: FOR GOD'S SAKE! The whole town knows you. They know where you live, so they would figure it out, you dumb...

Me: Oh! Well, I do apologize. You see, I never did complete my degree from journalism school and...

Somehow I got her to calm down and she left the alley without breaking my fingers. I went back into the office. My phone was ringing.

It was my towel-snapping husband calling from the restaurant where he worked. He was gasping. "I just got a phone call that J---- has been calling people all over town. A whole bunch of them, came in the restaurant today, and said she was coming after you!"

"It's too late. She already did."

"Are you OK?"

"Yep, for a sweet-faced girl with those adorable cheeks ya just want to squeeze, she curses like a sailor and threatened to kill me."

I didn't tell J----, that at heart I am a chicken. But the next week, column deadline rolled around and for some reason I could NOT think of a thing to write about. Then I got to thinking that Jamie really had a lot of nerve thinking she could threaten my fingers and the freedom of the press. After all, if one lives in a Podunk town, just about everything more exciting than the farm report will end up in the paper.

I wrote another column--no, not about corrupt politicians, but errant pooches and unfortunate towel placement. After the column was published outlining her thuggish tendencies, we never heard from her again.

Barely out of my teens myself, I learned that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword. And that a man's voice and a snapping towel are indeed mightier than two girls screaming.

Right after the girl ran out of our apartment, my husband, red-faced and mortified, commented that now this girl--a virtual stranger was only the third person to see him naked, besides his mother and me.

I had news for him--make that only two people. I close my eyes.

***This is a true story from my days as a reporter at the Corning Daily Observer--the world's smallest daily newspaper. Most of the people in my stories are long gone--or their names and other details that could easily identify them are not used. I guard people's privacy--but also a believer that if a person did something really funny or realy outrageous it might need to be written about.