Snakes in the Coop:
Our Duck House Drama

⚠️ Disclaimer: This post should not be used for wildlife identification or snake-handling advice. Everything here is based on my own personal chaos and overall bad judgment. Proceed at your own risk (and maybe keep animal control on speed dial).

Spring, Ducks, and False Security

Spring had finally arrived, and our ducks were grown and thriving.
A few of the early bloomers were even laying those adorable first-time mini eggs. Life was good. The sun was shining. The yard was humming.

And then the buzzing, creeping, slithering part of spring showed up: wasps, spiders, mosquitoes—and snakes.

<Insert Flock Picture>

First Contact: The Coop Intruder

One evening while tucking the ducks in, we spotted our first uninvited guest: a rat snake lounging inside the small chicken coop.
With a little teamwork (and the bravery of our snake-friendly neighbor), we caught it, relocated it, and called it a win.

Done. Problem solved.

Ha. If only.

Round Two: The Driveway Serpent

A few days later, TreVice snapped a photo of a long, dark rat snake stretched across the driveway, bold as brass.
She hissed, harassed the dog, and slid under the house like she paid rent there.

<Insert Driveway Snake Picture>

The next day, I spotted her again—this time coiled inside the duck house while I was setting out dinner. The ducks followed me in, I panicked, the snake panicked, and what followed can only be described as a feathery stampede of chaos.

Imagine twenty ducks trying to run in every direction at once—right across the snake. She lunged twice, I screamed once, and somehow nobody got bitten. The snake escaped through a small hole in the floor, and I vowed that was the end of it.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Coop Security 101 (and Why I Needed a Shovel)

One snake is bad luck. Two? That’s a design flaw.

TreVice was out of town, so it was up to me. I armed myself with hardware cloth, stubbornness, and caffeine, and marched to the coop to fortify our defenses.

When he built the enclosure, TreVice had focused on the big predators—coyotes, bobcats, raccoons, cats, and opossums. We had a solid coop and bricks along the inside edges to stop diggers.
But ventilation gaps around the bottom?
Perfect entry points for snakes.

My plan: dig out the bricks, line the base with hardware cloth, and replace everything.
Simple, right?
Wrong.

After two months of ducks living in the coop, the bedding and poop layers had reached archaeological depth. I was basically digging through the sedimentary record of quack history.

Snake Overhead!

I checked before starting—no snakes on the ground, none in the rafters.
Or so I thought.

Halfway through digging, my neighbor stopped by to chat. We looked up mid-conversation and—yep—there was a snake in the rafters, hanging above our heads like it owned the place.

I’ve relocated snakes before (including one I found sleeping under a brooder box after eating three chicks, and another chilling in my shower pan), but I’d never actually grabbed one with my hands.

Until now.

Moment of Truth

This rafter snake was perfectly positioned for me to grab.
I stared at her. She stared at me.
Cue the National Geographic soundtrack.

We stepped out to grab a bucket. When I came back, she’d moved just enough to give me a better angle. I took a deep breath, summoned my inner Steve Irwin, and—snatched her out of the rafters.

<Insert Me Holding Snake Picture>

Shockingly, she was calm. No hissing, no biting—just mildly offended. I loaded her into the bucket, drove a few miles to the local nature preserve, and released her.

Mission accomplished.
Snake problem solved.

…right?

Nope. Round Three.

The very next day, I found another snake in the coop doorway—this one brown, thick, and clearly full of my duck eggs.
I nudged it with a rake handle. It slithered away fast, clearly not in the mood for small talk.

I kept shoveling out duck bedding and patching holes. By evening, I’d blocked most of the snake entry points, but the job wasn’t quite done. Monday was a workday, so I left the finishing touches for TreVice.

Snake Number Four: The Brown One Returns

Midday Monday, I got a text from TreVice:

“The brown snake is back.”

<Insert Brown Snake Picture>

He’d found it coiled in the rafters again—same spot, same smug attitude. Not wanting to deal with it alone, he closed the coop and waited for me to get home.

When I arrived, the snake was still curled tight, head tucked in. We couldn’t see what kind it was, so I went with my tried-and-true identification method: poke it with a stick.

After five minutes of stubborn poking, the snake finally moved enough to reveal its head—another rat snake. And as it stretched across the rafters, it gave me a perfect angle.

Emboldened by my weekend success, I went for it again.

This one was not chill.

She twisted, thrashed, hissed, and expressed her opinions about the situation loud and clear. I held on tight, TreVice snapped a few photos (because what’s the point of stupidity without proof?), and we dropped her into the bucket.

Off to the preserve she went—to reunite with her slithery friends.

<Insert Picture or Short Video Clip of Brown Snake>

And Then… Another One.

I wish I could say that was the end.
But the next day, guess what I found coiled near the coop entrance?

<Insert New Snake Picture>

Yep.
Another one.
Apparently word had spread that our duck eggs were the local all-you-can-eat buffet.

The saga continues…

What We Learned (The Hard Way)

• Snakes love duck eggs—secure your coop vents with hardware cloth.

• Hardware cloth beats chicken wire every time.

• Always look up—snakes adore rafters.

• Buckets with lids are your best friend.

• Don’t poke angry reptiles unless you’re very sure (or very stubborn).

At least now I can say I’m a seasoned snake wrangler.
Unpaid. Unqualified. Slightly traumatized.
But seasoned.