Friends help you move, best friends help you move bodies (or snakes)

 
This last Saturday, I journeyed to the scenic town of Kingston. I made this pilgrimage because my dear friend Mr. Bugbear was moving house. Or, more accurately, my dear friend Mr. Bugbear, his family members, and his dear friends were moving house.

He was finally achieving his dream of once again fleeing civilization for the scenic backwoods of Ontario, where he and Mrs. Bugbear could raise true free-range children in a green space. A large yard, a monster workshop (and not just because Mr. Bugbear will be working there), a nice house, and a yard with all sorts of apple trees... a castle in the rough!

Mr. Bugbear and the Bugbears' male relatives did much of the heavy shufting on Friday. On the Saturday, there was some ancillary loading to be accomplished, but it filled maybe 20% of the 5 ton truck.

Feeling somewhat underwhelmed at how little we got to help due to the success Friday, Sir Douglas and I ventured to begin unpacking several pods worth of pre-packed goods that the Bugbears had packed and had shipped out to sit, like looming menhirs, upon their drive.

Unpacking these pods proved a worthwhile venture, both in terms of making Sir Douglas and myself feel truly useful and because Mr. Bugbear has a formidable pile of hardcover books. Mr. Bugbear's parental unit provided the pickup bed to assist in pod-to-back-of-house delivery and the library was transhipped without incident.

There was also the moving of a couch downstairs, using years of Furniture Ninja Training. It worked out well and nothing was broken, much like the move of the clearly-compensating-if-you-get-my-drift LCD uberscreen.

Somewhere along the line, one of the neighbours (a nice couple with two young chitlins) showed up to introduce themselves. Shortly thereafter, another local denizen showed up. A small garter snake (well, I'm guessing, I wouldn't know a garter snake from a plumbing snake...) showed up, coming in while we were unloading books.

My theory is he was looking for a warm place to sleep for the winter. He might also have smelled cat and thought it was a delicacy. Hard to say, he's a snake after all.

He wasn't as big around as my ring finger and only about fifteen inches long. However, this provoked a modicum of minor panic. Various suggestions were made, several of which involved his demise which I thought a bit unnecessary. The serpent-o-phobes in the house disagreed, but since they were unwilling to interact with the creature, my kinder nature prevailed.

I attempted to bag and remove our small, serpentine friend. I concede that snakelike flexibility and agility makes it hard to bag such a critter. However, I then opted for stomping percussion to 'encourage' our guest to s-s-slither his way back out the way he came, and he complied. He then dropped between the boards of the deck, where I suspect he and other snakes must regularly dwell.

So, the harmless serpent was saved, the terrified househoulders were rescued, and justice triumphed out throughout the lands!

A good move, a nice new home, another construction project or 10 to involve myself in, and a promise to let me harvest some apples for jam. (Note: Said promise was not cleared with Mrs. Bugbear, so I do not consider it actually binding...)