Dear Chicken Snake,
I know you are living in my tractor shed. Daryl saw you. You were climbing up a wall, you gymnast, you.
I would like to request that you go live somewhere else. And I am only asking once.
You are not welcome here. You are making me jumpy when I go collect the eggs. Jumpy when I reach for chicken feed. Jumpy when a fly sits on my shoulder. You are going to make me hurt myself.
Just because we share a first name does not mean we are friends. I am a chickenlady. You are a chickensnake. Ladies and snakes are not friends.
I have killed snakes with a hoe and with a truck. With a shovel and a shotgun. Who knows how you will meet your demise if you don't leave.
No, don't tell me you are only out there to help me with my mouse problem. I have cats for that. They are not nearly as sneaky as you are and they don't hide out in the layer boxers eating my eggs.
You heard me telling you this when I was out there this morning, but I knew you would only take me seriously if you have it in writing.
Have a great life in the woods.