Bernard

        Lizzie brought a snake home from school on Friday. For spring break she had won the honor of taking care of Ms. Jackson’s second grade class pet – a snake.
         “It’s not just any snake, mom,” Lizzie explained in her explaining-things-to-slow-grown-ups tone of voice. “It’s a corn snake. His name is Bernard.”
         We had been harboring Bernard for exactly three days when disaster struck. Despite my skepticism Lizzie had been doing a very good job taking care of our reptilian houseguest - feeding him, cleaning his tank, reading him bedtime stories – I was just beginning to relax about the whole thing when I heard the scream.
         “MOM!!!!!” I found Lizzie in her bedroom frantically searching under the bed, in her closet, throwing things every which way.
         “He wasn’t there when I woke up and I don’t know where he is and mom you have to do something!!!!”
         “Ok, all right, stay calm,” I said, silently panicking. “He couldn’t have gotten far. Nothing’s going to happen to him.” From just outside the window came the sound of my husband starting up the lawnmower. With a look of horror Lizzie turned and ran outside.
         I got to the backyard just as she did, and sure enough there was the glint of red and black in the grass – and there was Bob, riding his lawnmower obliviously towards catastrophe.
         “Nooooooooooooooo!!!!!” Lizzie shrieked.
         I reached down, pulled off my shoe and hurled it with all my might at Bob’s head.
         “Hey!” He yelped and turned off the lawn mower. “What’d you do that for?!”
         “Bernard!” Lizzie raced over to the miraculously still whole snake, picked it up and hugged it like a puppy. It was almost cute.