For a second she pauses.
Then I see it too.
“Oh hello,” she laughs, as though she's found a stray cat.
Coiled comfortably among the steaming compost, is a large carpet python.
Its thick patterned body loops in lazy swirls.
Scales catch the sunlight in soft bronze and olive patterns.
The snake raises its head, rising just enough to peer over the edge.
A tongue flickers curiously.
I feel Amos tense beside me, his hand finding mine.
God, this man is adorable.
Sometimes I forget that not everyone grew up in the wild.
In this house, a snake is the least of our worries.
“That thing is enormous,” he whispers.
I fight the urge to say something dirty.
Too easy, I grin.
“Probably likes it in there because of the mice. Don’t ya, buddy?”
The python retreats as I close the lid.
Mum sets the watering can on top of it to give Amos a little peace of mind. At least while we’re out here.
We don’t tell him that the snake probably slithered in through the bottom.
“It’s just a python, my love. You’re safe.”
He’s still nervous.
So I hold him for a moment, whispering in his ear.
“I promise if you were inanydanger, I’d throw you over my shoulder and run.”
“You can throw me over your shoulder later,” he laughs.
???
We spend the next couple of hours taking care of things that needed fixing.
Clearing the gutters, propping up the sagged fence.
Heavy lifting. Simple repairs.
The kind of things I helped my mum do every day when I was younger.
I teach Amos how to hold an axe, and put him to work bucking and splitting.
