I sat in the yard this morning watching the ducks swim in their little pool and the dogs play rambunctiously over the expanse of the yard. It was a sunny 75 degrees Fahrenheit and very comfortable overall. Then came the blue jays. Within moments there were 8 or 10 of them, all screaming at the top of their lungs.



Then came an American crow, and then another. Cawing and gurgling they joined the screaming jays. At first I thought this to be an owl response, but even with binoculars I could see neither an owl nor a hawk. But then I noticed the birds seemed to be looking down and finally, in a leafy limb-end bower, I made out a sinuosity of form - a snake. It was small, probably only 3 feet long or perhaps even a bit smaller.

As I watched, it began moving downward and it was apparent that it was a yellow rat. The snake's movement prompted the jays to find a new upper level of volume to their cacophonous calls. The snake didn't seem to care. I stood and moved towards the tree and the crows, more nervous than the jays, departed.

The snake continued downward until less than 20 feet separated us. The jays, with a final look of disdain, flew away. The rat snake got to the lowest limb, moved in towards the trunk and the last I saw it was coiling slowly, largely secluded between the trunk and an immense grape vine that clambered up the tree.

I walked away thinking this was a lucky snake. Perhaps it was because I was so close that the frenzied calls of the jays and crows hadn't summoned a red-shouldered hawk. Had one of these herp-eating buteos arrived the ending for this tale and the snake would probably have been just that: a literal ending.