And I guess that's how it all started- the moccasin. My friend Kristi and I were out looking for a good, sapling-aged sasafrass tree (their roots made wonderful tea) around the wood pile. Now I'll admit I was careless. I mean, a woodpile is a great place for snakes, and I should have been paying attention. But I didn't. So I had no idea that there was a good-sized water moccasin lying around right where I was about to step when my dog, Scout, bumped into me. And I stepped flat-out, straight-down on that sucker, too. It struck something bad, but luckily I had my boots on (good ol' Walmart boots! Cheap, uncomfortable, flimsy, but they can save a life with that gosh-awful synthetic leather!) so it didn't hit my skin.
That started it. One of my friends' dads had been trying to catch her a snake, and when he heard how lazy they were getting, he came out with her that same day to look for one. They ended up with a pretty little ribbon snake. Me? Well, I got Hawk.
Logs are good places for snakes. So it was no wonder we were checking under them left and right. I had just looked under one, and Kristi was at another, when I heard her shout out 'SNAKE!' And there he was: vibrant red, pitch black, four-foot-long with that characteristic black stinger on the end of his tail. Oh- and did I mention part of his head was missing? Yep- a beak. And up and down his sides puncture wounds- talons.
And thus his name, Hawk.
We kept him for about a week before he died. We certainly prolonged his life (to some extent). He had food, a heat lamp, bark, and some Vita-Spray, but that just wasn't enough, despite how active he was the night before he died.