naughty child and continued her search for mice. When I recalled this story to my father, he admonished me for not cranking the engine, which may have sliced her to bits. Dad just didn’t understand my growing affection for this creature. Apparently, the rattler did not feel threatened by me, since she rarely warned me she was nearby. This worried me, since I’d find her continuously underfoot, like a clinging, curious cat. Once, I came around the corner of the house too fast and halted abruptly when I heard a whispered, lazy hiss. There I was, with my foot poised right over her, about to step on her. She’d barely warned me. I found myself talking to her, explaining that she needed to use her voice, a loud hiss or a rattle just to let me know she was there. Early in the spring of 2009, I looked out the window and saw her resting peacefully under a Buddleia bush. As I watched, a large roadrunner, tail straight back like a rudder, ran at the snake. I knew this bird to be an aggressive predator of rattlesnakes. I held my breath and watched, not wanting to interfere. I could hear my father whisper in my ear, “Let nature take its course. You’ll be rid of the foul beast!” The luminous colors of the bird transfixed me as I watched an ancient dance unfold, a game of serious tag. The roadrunner darted in and pounced and the snake lunged, punching at the bird with her fangs. Back and forth for hours. I kept up a constant prayer interspersed with foul profanity. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and stomped outside. The roadrunner must’ve been hungry since he had no fear of me. I tossed gravel at his feet, but he stood his ground. I knelt and talked to the obstinate little bastard, explaining that this was my rattlesnake and he’d best go find his own. Then I said a Hail Mary and crossed myself even though I’m not Catholic. He turned rudder and ran and I could finally breathe. I last saw my rattler in September of 2011. I walked in my garden under a full moon, admiring the beauty of “Luna Glow” morning glories in the silver light. I almost tripped over her. She reared her head and hissed at me, long and loud. She’d finally found her voice. I thought we were saying goodnight, but when she didn’t arrive the next spring, I realized she’d been saying goodbye.
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Santa Fe Literary Review