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A N I M A L STORIES The animal creation . . . how wonderful is the mechanism of these finely formed self-moving beings, how complicated their system, yet what unerring uniformity prevails through every tribe and particular species! WILLIAM BARTRAM Travels The Boomer and the Blacksnake Ve been having a hard time sleeping lately. It's not because I'm not tired after working all day, fixing a meal, setting a fire for the night, and reading myself silly; it's the overhead drama being played out in the ceiling at night. It begins as I turn down the wick of my kerosene lamp after climbing into bed. The lowering of the light must be the signal, asthat iswhen the nuts begin to roll. Like a little bowling alley in my attic. The only thing missing is the crashing of pins. The round nuts roll, and something scurries to catch them. The game would probably go on without interruption were I not to throw back the covers, stand up on the bed, and pound on the ceiling. Then the game playing stops, only to start up again just as I'm nodding off, and the scene plays itself out once more. So it goes throughout the night. I know who the player in this drama is, as I have seen him coming and going during the daylight hours. The bowler is a reddish brown squirrel, a "boomer," that appears on the roof and in the locust tree over the south end of the cabin, chiding me—with a walnut in its mouth— as if I were intruding on his space. He's been stashing walnuts in my attic for over a month and must have quite ahoard, judging by the aftershocks of my pounding on the ceiling. Not able to find the place where he's getting into the house, I'm left to suffer his midnight antics. Lately, however, another sound has come from the ceiling at night. A soft sliding like something moving through snow. When this sound occurs, I've noticed that my bowler does not work at stackinghiswal166 ^-Veb tired a1 J nuts. At first Ithought this new noise might be the boomer smoothing out his nest or maybe rolling around in his sleep. But then the other day, when walking down the pine-needle path to the backyard of the cabin, Iglimpsed something moving around the underpinnings of the house. As I got closer I could see clearly a large blacksnake winding around a locust post and making its way up into the outside wall on the north side of the cabin. Worried that the blacksnake would get into the living area of the house, I stepped inside and went to the bedroom, waiting to see the old snake emerge. After a while what I heard insteadwas the same smooth sliding of a fewnights before. The blacksnake had found a way into the cabin walls and up into the attic, where it has been hanging out ever since—coming outside during the day to hunt or to get quality time in the direct sun. With this dynamic having gone on for some time, I went to bed a few nights later skeptical about getting any sleep. Asusual, as soon as I blew out the lamp the bowling began. The nut-rolling had been going on a while when I finally heard the slow sliding of the blacksnake right above my head. As the nuts rumbled overhead on the far side of the room, the snake eased acrossthe Sheetrock. Roll, roll. . .slide, slide . . . This surreal serenade went on for several minutes, concluding abruptlywith floppingand thrashing followedby a choked squeal. The boomer's braygot louder and more frantic asthe sliding and slapping continued. Then there was silence. Andnothing movedoverhead again for the rest of the night. The next night and the night after that no noise came from my ceiling. No bowling. No slithering.Just an occasionalbreeze blowing through the screens in the windows on the west wall. A day or so later, coming down the path where I had first seen the blacksnake, I encountered it again. This time it was stretched out underneath the cabin and looked to be headed for the woods. There was a large bulge in the snake's midriff. Still digesting. Happy for the quiet these nights since the brouhaha in my attic, I'm finding that I kind of miss the little boomer, though not his nightly games of boccie. The...

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