I used my Swiss Army knife to cut the plastic and extracted a few plump pillows of sugar, then deposited them in the kid’s grubby hand. “Gators think they’re eggs. When I throw one in the pool, it’ll swim toward me, and I can catch it easier. But I have to warn you. Never, ever feed a gator yourself. This is only for professionals, and only for trapping purposes.”
“Whoa. Epic.” The kid popped the marshmallow in his mouth and swallowed it after a single bite. “My dad panicked when he saw the gator in the pool. He almost dropped his coffee cup. He’s worried it’s gonna eat our chihuahuas.”
“That’s a valid concern, my dude. Gators like to snack on small dogs, probably as much as you like those marshmallows.” The kid stole another handful and shoved them in his mouth.
The dad lumbered over with the pool net and stared dubiously at the marshmallow package lying on the glass patio table. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
I fished two marshmallows out of the package and stood, motioning for him to hand me the net.
“It’s no sweat, I’ve done this dozens of times. I’ll get him out of here in no time. Y’all might want to stand back.” I could probably grab the creature with my hands, but that would involve climbing into the water, and I didn’t want to get my cute new Gator Queen T-shirt wet. I paused for dramatic effect and winked. “This could get a little rough.”
“Sweet. I’m gonna post this online,” the kid yelled while aiming his cell at me.
“For God’s sakes, Brandon, don’t get your arm chomped off. And for the millionth time, don’t put our address on the interwebs. Christ, I knew there were alligators in Florida. I didn’t think they’d end up in my pool. I was even gonna take a morning swim until this happened.” The guy rambled on for a bit about the humidity.
“It’s going to be a hot one all right,” I said in a cheery voice. I’d been home all of six weeks and the warm weather had settled into my bones. And in my pores. And in crevices I’d forgotten about while living in Boston.
You could take the girl out of Florida, but you could never take Florida out of the girl.
Bruce stood there with his hands pressed into his hips, which only accentuated his fireplug-like body. “Where do you think the gator came from?”
“Well, there’s that canal out back, and a swampy area, too. Plus a few small lakes. Gators are in almost every freshwater source in Florida.” I took a few steps to the deep end of the pool. “There are about one-point-two-five million gators in the state, and some of them end up in backyards and pools. Sometimes they even knock on doors. I’d suggest getting a screened enclosure if you don’t want this to happen again.”
I didn’t tell him that a large enough gator would rip through a pool enclosure like the Kool-Aid Man busting through a wall. A screen would probably deter the smaller critters like this one.
Maybe.
I tossed a marshmallow about eight feet into the water, a foot from the gator’s snout. Within a few seconds, it floated over, opened its jaws, and snapped them shut around the candy. The kid let out a muffled squeal.
“Cool, right?” I said.
“Way cool,” the kid responded.
“You need help?” the guy called out, from a safe distance. “Should we call for backup?”
“Nah, I’ve got this.” Adrenaline surged through me. Even though this was only a small gator, I hadn’t officially caught one here in Florida in a couple of years. The last time was when I’d come home from Boston and gone on a call with Dad. We’d nabbed a twelve-footer that day.
By my family’s standards, that was what passed for a cherished memory.
With my toes at the edge of the pool, I dropped the second marshmallow into the water between me and the reptile.
“Come to momma, baby gator,” I whispered.
The critter turned in my direction, aiming its snout right at the marshmallow. It was a cutie all right, with black and tan stripes on its tail and body, markings that would eventually fade to a menacing, leathery, dark gray in adulthood. It submerged everything but its gold-green eyes. Some people thought reptiles were gross. To me, they were a quirky bunch of misunderstood characters in the animal kingdom.
The gator tucked its little feet against its body and propelled itself forward with its muscular tail.
I readied the net. When the gator opened its mouth to chomp the marshmallow, I swiftly dipped the net into the water and scooped the reptile up, making sure to maneuver the skimmer so the animal twisted and tangled in the mesh. It squirmed and thrashed violently, spraying droplets of water everywhere.
Using a hand-over-fist motion on the pole, I drew the net closer to me, then slowly crouched. The gator was so small that I wasn’t too concerned about getting hurt. I flipped the net on the ground, open side down. I kept one knee on the net’s handle while my hands went to my duct tape dispenser. I tore off a foot-long piece of silver tape and stuck one end to my left bicep.
Through the net, I clamped one hand firmly around the back of the gator’s neck to immobilize it. Its little tail whipped against my forearm but caused no pain—I’d sustained much worse from far more menacing creatures.
Carefully, I lifted the aluminum rim of the pool skimmer and grabbed the reptile with my other hand, dragging it from under the net. I kept it pinned to the ground while I reached for the tape, then wrangled it around its snout.
“Gotcha,” I said.
I picked up the gator, resting its slim body on my forearm. The smooth belly felt pleasantly cool against my sunbaked bare skin.
