Dead Alfred
A Failed Rescue
I woke my husband up with my real life reaction to a bad dream the other night. Evidently, I thrashed and flailed and let out a piercing scream. He rubbed my back and told me, “It’s okay, it’s okay…”
In the dream, my sister — the one who currently has a collection of slimy little creatures with hands, and who also frequently sends me photos of them — was chasing me with a baby albino boa constrictor.
She caught up to me and let the snake slither down the back of my shirt. That’s when I flailed and screamed in real life.
It was pretty rude.
After I woke up, I realized that it was probably a flashback of sorts. The same sister from my dream used to chase me around the yard with toads and threaten to put them on me.
Then, I remembered another slimy little creature I once had the displeasure of sort of knowing. His name was Dead Alfred.
Before I share about Dead Alfred, I have to tell you that my sisters and I were animal rescuers. We rescued moles, baby squirrels, and little bunnies from the mouths of our cats. It didn’t usually end well, in spite of our efforts and heartfelt tears.
I preferred furry, feathery creatures. My sisters, on the other hand, liked all the creatures — including the slimy, creepy ones.
One afternoon, another one of my sisters, not the toad chaser, went out for a walk with her friend and returned with a pail.
“Look! Look what I found!” she cried as she raced up to the house.
I ran outside and looked in the pail. I quickly took a step backwards.
“This is Dead Alfred,” she said proudly.
“Oh,” I said. Because what else can you say when your sister presents with you a dead garter snake in a pail?
Dead Alfred remained in the pail for a few days until Mom said something about how someone should get rid of that dead snake on the porch already.
