Finner and I were bored so we went to District, where it’s happy hour all day. Raining earlier, the temperature dropped making it bearable (novel) in Texas. My booth of choice, the corner picnic table, Finner makes friends with the wait staff, getting a bowl of water poured from a carafe (seriously),  a pat, and a bone.  Patrons, entering through the side gate, admire his Star Wars bandana as they look for a table.

Banned from the backyard, I seek outside to sit, write.

Yesterday, a coral snake debuted my yard. Okay, I actually didn’t see it, but Finner did. Hanging out with Dave, his best friend of choice, he’d just finished business at the far end of the yard (all whopping 350 square feet of it) and was trotting back proclaiming victory when it slithered.

Catching eyes simultaneously, Dave, Finner, they hesitated.

“He saw it, leaned like he wanted to sniff it, but then backed up, like he knew.” Said Dave.

That’s because he did know.

A graduate of Snake Training 101, my dog trusts his instincts.  Paying $60 a snake, he learned by way of the shock collar, “Don’t mess with snakes.”

Each snake giving off a different scent, I’d paid for the water moccasin and the rattlesnake, but, didn’t think I’d need the coral.

But, Finner knew the drug, snake. Regardless of scent, it was poison.

Stay away.