My First Rattlesnake Kill

Jen and I decided to go to Sierra Vista for the day on Saturday and spend a little time reconnecting. With my school stuff and Jen working long hours, we haven't had much time to just be together. So we did that Saturday, and it was a really good time. After we got bored in SV, we came home and ate some pizza and watched a movie. Then, at around 6PM, we decided to go out and spray the weeds in our yard, so I strapped the big old tank on my back, pumped it up, and got to spraying (I also stuck our pistol in my pocket, which is sort of standard procedure anytime we do anything outside on the ranch). Meanwhile, Jen was wandering around the yard. She was strolling along our driveway, when all of a sudden, she let out a pretty good scream and started backing away from something. When Jen gets... let's say "alarmed," she sometimes becomes a little hard to understand. However, as I came around the bend in the driveway, I was able to gather that she had found a snake. I wanted to make sure that it was a rattlesnake before I pulled the gun and shot it, though, because we also have bull snakes on the property, which look like rattlers without the rattles, and they eat rats and things, which is good. Sure enough, this one was a rattlesnake, and it was laying across our driveway and looking for all the world like it had been run over. I drew the pistol and kicked some dust at it, figuring that if it was actually alive it would react in some way. It didn't react at all; it just kept laying there. I voiced my suspicion that it was dead, hoping Jen would calm down. Instead, she shouted at me, "I don't care! Just shoot it anyway!" Being the good husband that I am, I obliged her, and it's a good thing I did because as soon as the first round of rat-shot hit it, it started heading for the weeds. (I want to point out how tricky it is to get off a good shot with a pistol when you have a big tank of chemicals on your back and you're trying to keep the sprayer and its hose out of the line of fire.) I shot the snake again, a little more carefully this time, and he stopped his retreat. In fact, he stopped doing everything. I was content in the idea I had successfully killed him, but Jenny... let's say "requested" that I shoot him again, so I again obliged her and hit him one more time. The third shot flipped him clean onto his back, so there was no more doubt; the snake was dead. Tired of trying to function with a tank on my back, I went back to spraying the weeds growing on our walkways. When I finished that chore, I took off the tank and went back to the snake. My trusty tape measure told me he was 33 inches long, before I cut off his rattle for a keepsake (the rattle had 6 buttons on it; one less than the last one that was killed in our yard). With the help of a stick, I moved my victim to a flower pot on the edge of our driveway, where Chuck (our landlord) later picked him up and, I'm assuming, disposed of him. Chuck later told me that my kill was the third in three days; he had killed one on Thursday and one on Friday. I have a picture of my snake dangling at the end of a stick, but the limits of the computers in the campus lab won't let me put it on here. Maybe Jen will put up a pic of it (hint, hint).

Here's the odd little postscript to this tale: Today when I got back into my classroom after lunch, there were 4 or 5 people in a little huddle in one corner of the room, and one student was pounding on the floor with a signpost they keep in the room. When I got to the corner to see what was up, the student had just finished braining a baby rattlesnake that had somehow found its way into our classroom. It was 9 or 10 inches long, and only had one little button for a rattle. When the other students first found it, they thought it was dead... until it started furiously striking the sole of one student's shoe. Weird.

Samsonite

Today I got the highest score in the class on my Basic Electricity test. I missed one question out of 33. Not passing the test was never really the issue for me, though. What had me really bothered yesterday is that I feel like I'm just not grasping electricity (the structure of FAA and FAA-related testing is such that you can score perfectly on a test without having the slightest clue what any of the subject matter actually means). I still feel like electricity's somewhere beyond my mental reach, but I'm okay with the idea that I'll pick up those details I actually NEED to know for AMT, when it's time for me to know them. As an instructor told us all today, "We're not training you to be electrical engineers."

I'm admitting, here and now, for those who didn't already know this, that I'm pretty hard on myself (and I apparently LOVE to use commas). When I'm in a mood like I was yesterday, it doesn't matter that I'm at the head of my class. It doesn't matter that I'm in the final bit of my commercial pilot certificate. Like I just mentioned, part of what was getting to me yesterday was that I felt I should be a master electrician after one week of class on the subject. Who cares whether I'm doing well in the program? That's irrelevant (this is all what I was thinking yesterday, you see). The relevant thing is that I'm too stupid to get electricity, regardless of how long I spent studying it.

The other thing that was getting to me is that I don't feel like I'm doing well enough at piloting. My private certificate was a con job, surely; I didn't deserve it. My instrument rating was a fluke, certainly; there's no way I should have such a thing in my possession. The things I've done well, and do well, don't matter; they're beside the point. The only things I can see clearly on a day like yesterday, are my failures and those things I'm still not an expert at. I've worried, pretty much from my first flight lesson, that I'm not good enough or smart enough or talented enough or perceptive enough to be a good pilot. That thought has haunted me through every flight period and solo flight and cross-country and test and accomplishment. Well, I had a short conversation with my instructor (the new one, who's been making his living evaluating pilots) in which he told me, point-blank, that I have the talent and ability to be a great pilot. He also told me that he's noticed I REALLY lack self-confidence, which is both very accurate and very perceptive on his part. We talked a bit about that, and he assured me he could help me through the head games I'm playing with myself, because those are the only things holding me back from being a very good pilot.

So, to sum up this semi-rambling mess, I'm feeling much better about things today, than I did yesterday.

worthless
-adjective
without worth; of no use, importance, or value; good-for-nothing; Josh LaBo 27.75 years into his lifespan.