It was horrible.

There I was, digging at the juniper roots we're trying to take out, my sister giving the littler one a bath. I saw it and screamed out. My cry echoed through the neighborhood, but somehow my sister didn't hear it. "Oh god!" I shouted to her. "We're gonna have to move." "What?", she came out to see. "Don't get any closer. How fast can you sell the house?" "What? A snake?" "Worse." "A dead body?" Worse." Understanding and horror dawned on her face. She came over to hold my hand and lead me away. "We're done working on these stumps. Just come inside."

Inside we discussed what to do with it. Bag it up and send it to Dad? Send it to her old landlord, who wont give her the deposit back? My sister feels real bad that she's sent him a couple firm letters and is debating small claims court, but when the alternative is sending him potato bugs in the mail, we can all agree that she is taking the high road.

We gave it half an hour to vacate, then went back to digging out the juniper stumps. Ten minutes later we unearthed it. With the fury of a mama bear her Tiger nature, my sister chopped it in half. I don't know how she could make herself get within a shovel's length. No doubt thinking of her perfect boys out in that same yard gave her the courage.

We're inside now, recovering, drinking cool water and trying not to re-live the encounter. We will never be the same.