Bloody hell there’s a lot to get used to living out here in the wilds of France. You all know the language bit is killing me, slowly but effectively. I went to the shoe store the other day and left empty handed but red faced from my ridiculous attempts at a basic conversation. Blah, blah, le blah on that one. Today I’m on about the critters.
Who knew I was moving to a medieval zoo? I showed you the goats and alpacas down the road right? Of course I have the ducks morning, noon and night squawking, screwing and now pooping wherever they please as if they owned the place. They better get it together right quick. Two words, orange sauce.
I’ve got giant snails, river bugs and mosquitoes by the thousands, bats swooping around my head at night, exotic horror film spiders in the bathtub, the odd rat scurrying across the terrace often followed by one of two cats that frighten the bejesus out of me every time and last night a pterodactyl-ish moth bigger than my hand (which of course Neil had to catch on a stick so he could play with it). Honest to god it’s like living in a friggin’ Harry Potter book. But now, well, let’s just say we’ve reached a new level of vermin-o-mania.
This morning, as I innocently stepped out on my sunny terrace, I was greeted by a loud buzzing. I looked down and there at my feet was a very large dead bird covered in huge black flies feasting on the carcass. Holy son of satan. I mean I’m all for this all god’s creatures crap but Dr. Doolittle I am not. Who wants that mess on their doorstep? Oh I know who, my husband and let me tell you why.
Yesterday he comes through the door all excited, “GUESS what I saw out in front of the house?” Ever the optimist I was thinking a guy selling sour cream and Miracle Whip but no such luck. A snake he said. Okay then. So I said, “What do you mean, like a little garden snake?” But I could see that he was eye deep into that weird ‘I love anything gross’ thing that boys often seem to have. “No a real snake, like 4 feet long, you know a snake snake and it was all mashed up in the middle.” Lovely.
Oh here we go. Apparently the hills are alive with les serpents. Rusty the wonderhusband will think he died and went to heaven. Later, on our walk he was quite distracted with wanting to show me this mangled reptile and he was disappointed that it was gone. “Somebody must have cleaned it up” he said sadly. Now if that’s not a great date I don’t know what is. Jeez if I had a dollar for every smooth talker who tried to show me a limp snake…
Bobbi French is a regular contributor at Gypsy Girls Guide.