The Black Snake Has Saved Us Both

I've two chickens left, a rooster and a hen. They're survivors. Anything that has made it through the last winter deserves to stay in the gene pool, but these two have lasted when all the others have perished.(Last week the hen went broody, which is kind of nice and heart-warming, but I'd rather have the eggs.) She's on the box shelf, on the side of the packing shed where there would be stacks of waxed produce boxes if she wasn't there. She's between two bales of hay, left over from Krystal's aborted cob oven project. (I need the hay for mulch, but the chicken seems to need them more.) The rooster started raising a racket this morning, and I went over to find a black snake slithering its way up to the eggs. I reached under him with a stick, got him good and balanced, and carried him away.
Until he slithered off and continued on his way to the eggs. This process was repeated a good five or six times, until a fashioned a bit of a lasso on the end of the stick and carried him over to the walnut trees.
I thought that was the end of it, but, of course, it wasn't. A few hours later I saw him again, winding his way down the driveway, visions of fresh eggs in his eyes. I lassoed him again and tried to get him into a burlap bag, but he was having none of it. So I dropped him into a blue barrel and capped it good and tight. I loaded him into the van and dropped him off - well, the exact location might be in violation of a few Federal statutes, so let's just say he's safe and sound and elsewhere.

Okay, that may not be the most fascinating story ever, but it has saved me from continuing with my original idea of a post, which I promise you would have been tiresome.
Stay tuned, however, for some important bee news.