It would have been the perfect Mother’s Day gift.

Picture this:

Mother’s Day morning, everyone in bed but me on the computer and the dogs, outside, now suddenly very vocal.

Very large snake taunting the dogs from the foundation of the house, probably the same snake that spawns all the little “gifts” the cats leave on my chair; the same snake that offers me stain-fighting tips as I do the laundry; the same snake that left her skin wrapped around several bottles of chianti. Haven’t I got enough beings around here that don’t pick up after themselves, that the vermin has to be a clutterer too?

What kind of snake?

You don’t think I’m going to get close enough to look, do you?

Topper bravely enters the fray, approaching with a threatening bark. Ms. Hiss lashes out at him, sticking out her tongue. Topper retreats behind me, doing the perfect imitation of an obedient dog.

Topper do ‘Sittopper.’ Good dog sit. Topper would kill evil hissy thing, but Topper do ‘Sittopper.’ Good dog, Topper. Do sit. See, Da Mama! Topper can do ‘Sittopper” good. Mama don’t have to back up to Topper. No, Da Mama, ‘Staydamama.’ STAY IN FRONT OF DA TOPPER!

Further back are the terriers alternating four-foot vertical jumps accompanied by high-pitched yaps. Zsa Zsa sits on the porch, mildly watching the action. Really, Dah-ling, I’d help, but I’ve just had my nails done. But do stop those beasts from that awful barking.

What did I do?

What any female would do who lives in a house with three males. I called Dirtman, killer of spiders, disposer of cat-killed vermin.

“Come down here and get rid of this thing,” I yell.

So down comes Dirtman and his contribution to the situation is to inform me that there is, indeed, a snake coming out of the foundation and how nice it will be when we live in a house that is sealed enough so wildlife can’t get in.

Ah! But I don’t have only Dirtman to save me! Here comes Heir 1, loaded for bear.

Let me pause the action for a moment to talk about product concepts and how they relate to video games. As I’ve related before, present in this house is the action figure of a soul-sucking angsty vampire angel with bad hair. But another artifact that Heir 1 has seen fit to save up for is a replica of the sword of said soul-sucking angsty vampire angel with bad hair, called “Soul Reaver” (not as catchy as “Excalibur,” but just as profitable). It sits on display on the wall of his bedroom next to his poster of Marlon Brando in The Godfather and Al Pacino as Scarface.

Every now and then Heir 1 and his friends get stupid, nitwit ideas about actually using Soul Reaver for things like bicycle jousting or performing “mock beheadings” for the video camera. This is why you have to watch teenagers just as much as toddlers. In fact, I’m convinced the only safe time for kids is when you send them out with a sibling, who they know will rat on them in a heartbeat.

Back to Ms. Hiss.

All the commotion had awakened Heir 1 who, I try to tell myself, was alarmed to hear that his mother was on the very precipice of doom without a hope of mobilizing her husband or dogs. I suspect, though, he just saw a chance to weald Soul Reaver.

First, though, he realizes he can’t run around the yard in just his boxer shorts.

So he puts on his sneakers.

With Soul Reaver raised he charges at the snake…………who disappears.

“Wait!” I yell, “Let me get the camera.”

Disheartened, he dragged himself back into the house. “Are you crazy?”

So the rest of the day was rather sedate by comparison, even with Heir 1 doing all the driving (doing surprisingly well, I might add) and even with Heir 2’s attempts to juggle expensive ceramics at our favorite kitchen store.

I settled for the mix CD Heir 1 made for me, which is now my driving CD of choice, and the Life of Brian DVD Heir 2 gave me, both great gifts. But not as great as would be a picture of Heir 1 in his underwear and sneakers attacking the aluminum siding with a pointy stick.

Certainly not as useful in terms of blackmail possibilities.