Bitten!

When you find out somebody on site has been bitten; what would you expect?

A stray dog? An ant? Maybe even a ferret (if they read this blog https://mucktwineandthinker.wordpress.com/2013/06/30/fruit-cages-and-feisty-ferrets/)?

But, sit a while, hold those horses. Let the tale unfold as it will.

Robot Dave was in the shop, telling one and all (well those as’d listen any road up).

“Never guess what happened to Clothy?” he begins – once again. he’s not expecting anybody to guess: that’d ruin the flow. Nobody even tries. Just a raised eyebrow or two.

“No? Well he was strimmin’ the path, grass path it is of course. Boots on, sleeves rolled up. Goggles. The plot on the one side of the path is a bit lower, so he’s bein’ careful. There’s some timber an’ some corrugated iron as a retaining’ wall. He’s watchin’ is footing like; watchin’ where he’s strimmin’. Stops to check the line is feedin’ out proper. Like you do.”

Feels somethin’ on his trousers, wrapped around the leg I s’pose. A bit of twine, he thinks … yeah, thinks without thinkin’ like …” He laughs at his own observation.

“…’ cos if he’d been thinkin …” the sentence goes unfinished. He adjusts his stance, leaning on the shelf a little less heavily. A couple of listeners take a step back.

“Yeah, so he reaches down to untangle it; and as he’s bendin’ down the string moves. Moves on its own. It’s not string: it’s a snake. He realises this as he’s moving but, somehow can’t stop moving. He’s grabbed the snake by the tail – half still thinkin’ it’s string like, I s’pose, and he’s gonna pull it clear. The snake, looses go of the his trouser leg an’ bites him on the arm. The one he’s used to grab the snake. He acts as quick as he can. Throws the beast away; it’s loosed his arm like.”

“He’s thinkin’ that was an adder. Adder’s bite can kill you. It was an adder wasn’t it? So he tidies up the strimmer, locks it in his shed. Walks back to the car, drives up to the top gate, unlocks it an’ drives to hospital. No hurry, you know what he’s like don’t you? Gotta be done tidy like.”

“Or not at all,” Jim puts in, getting an evil glance from Robot Dave and deciding to say no more.

““Adder!” they said at the hospital, give him the treatment. Three weeks of it.”

“it’s all very well,” he finishes, “this looking after wildlife, bees and nest boxes an’ all … but adders, that’s another think comin’ if you ask me.”

 

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