Clearing away last year's wildflowers, I uncovered his home. He wasn't in, or at least wasn't making an appearance for company. And therefore I don't know his name so I've dubbed him with our family's age-tested name for such a critter - "sneaky snake."
The problem though, according to the wildlife rescue foundation, which I called because I really don't want my new neighbor to jump out of his house with shakers on his tail, is he's probably not a snake at all.
His home is built in a pile of sand and rocks that I've assembled to look like a dry wash. If I were a sneaky snake, I'd live there. He has a huge grassy yard and lots of tall grasses nearby to slither through.
But the wildlife guy said, "it's probably a mammal. Snakes don't dig holes. They just go looking for other animals to eat and take over the holes."
He said at this time of the year, sneaky snakes would be denned in rock fissures below the frost line so they won't freeze, as being reptiles and all, they have no way of keeping themselves warm.
Nonetheless, I'm in no hurry to investigate - just in case. I'm all for garden and bull snakes taking up residence to eat the mice, since the dog eats the cats at our house, but I don't want the dog that eats the cats to get eaten, or even bitten by a snake.
She doesn't like the vet all that much, and I don't much like the vet's bill.
I've spent nearly all my life in the Nevada desert. I know when I turn over a rock in my yard, there will likely be a scorpion under it. I still jump and hack the thing to bits as fast as I can, and I've learned to always wear sneakers and gloves.
I can tell the difference between the webs of the wolf spiders and the black widows, and that's about it. The first time I saw a potato bug, about six years ago now, I nearly had a coronary. Now they just give me the heebeejeebees, but I'm not ascared of bugs. I don't much like them taking up residence in my residence, but I understand their role in nature and generally let them be, even if it means I have frilly-edged leaves on my plants.
But I don't like them sneaky snakes with the shakers on their tails.
Kurt Hildebrand said my new neighbor is probably a vole. I must confess complete ignorance. What's a vole?
Record-Courier photographer Belinda Grant, who's had some experience with voles, said if he's a vole, he'll probably be gone after spring.
Otherwise, she said, they can be a pain and can be rid by poison or trapping, but she described trapping as being "very hard and mucho pain in the ..." and wished me good luck.
According to the UC Davis Web site, I may need more than luck. The site said "voles are intriguing small mammals because some populations regularly go through cycles from low to high numbers with occasional irruptions that can send numbers soaring (up to several thousand per acre)." Holy voley!
The Davis site said the montane vole (M. montanus) inhabits northeastern California and the eastern Sierra slope, and that voles are mouse-like rodents somewhat similar in appearance to pocket gophers. They have a compact, heavy body, short legs, short-furred tail, small eyes and partially hidden ears. The long, coarse fur is blackish brown to grayish brown. When fully grown they can measure 5-8 inches long, including the tail.
Although voles do spend considerable time aboveground and may occasionally be seen scurrying about, most of their time is spent below ground in their burrow system. The clearest signs of their presence are the well-traveled, above-ground runways that connect burrow openings; the runways are usually hidden beneath a protective layer of grass or other ground cover. The maze of runways leads to multiple burrow openings that are each about 1-1Ú2 to 2 inches in diameter. The runways are easily found by pulling back overhanging ground cover.
If he is a vole, he's a great industrialist. His home spans at least three mounds in my yard, and in the dry wash alone, he's made three exits and a trail. Most of the time the dry wash is buried beneath a mass of wild purple and yellow daisy-looking flowers that bloom in late August and September.
Sounds like the shoe fits the vole better than the sneaky snake.
I guess I should feel fortunate, but with a population that can grow to more than several thousands, I'll be lucky if I can grow anything.
But short of tearing out the rock pile to see who's down below, I'll just have to keep an eye out. If I'm lucky, I'll see him before he sees me. But if the he is a she, I guess I'll just move out - you don't mess with a woman's house.
Kelli Du Fresne is features editor for the Nevada Appeal. Contact her at kdufresne@nevadaappeal.com or at 881-1261.
