Trophies

My grandmother’s sister, Mossy Stafford, lived just down the road from her.  When staying with my grandparents, I would often walk down the road to visit.  My great-uncle John Stafford once told me an interesting story.

He went out one morning to milk the cows.  Since he needed to weed the corn patch, afterword, he carried a hoe with him.  As he walked along, his mind occupied by the looming daily chores, something made him lurch to a stop.

Directly in front of him was a rattlesnake.  It was huge, maybe four or five feet long, tail buzzing like crazy, coiled with its head back, ready to strike.  With an exclamation he leaped back swinging the hoe as he fell.

When he did not feel a bite, he looked down the path, as he lay on the ground.  The snake writhed on the ground, headless, across the path.  Shaken John got to his feet and watched the snake, until it stopped thrashing.  He took a few minutes, composed himself, and continued down the path to the barn. 

That night John lay in bed remembering how big that snake had been, and how large the buttons had seemed on its tail.  No one would believe him, unless he had the rattles.  The longer he thought of it the more he wanted them as trophies.  Finally, he through back the covers, dressed, and went back out.

It was a spooky night, the moon out, and a light fog.  He walked down the path until he saw the snake laying across the path.  Wanting to get back to the house, and bed, he put one foot on the snakes body as he ripped the buttons off of its tail.  He turned and hurried back to the house.

The next morning Uncle John admired the snake’s rattles before eating his breakfast.  After the meal, he once more went down the path, to the barn, to mild his cows.  As he walked along, he suddenly stopped, and looked at the path in disbelief.

In front of him, across the path, lay the body of the headless snake.  With the rattles still attached.