I cut the engine, jumped out, and ran in to head him off. If he hid, we might never find him. Our grandchildren might run across him while getting out their riding toys.

When I got inside, I spotted him sliding behind the boxes stacked between the two doors. I pulled the boxes out from the wall sideways so that the open end of the space would be next to the open door. Surely he’d head back out, given the opportunity. Wrong. He wound himself into a double figure eight with his head underneath.

Since I had ice cream in the car, I decided I’d better unload the groceries. Hoping he’d slink out while I was gone, I rushed to the house, my arms loaded with bags. I put away the few items that had to be refrigerated and returned.

He was right where I’d left him—in a knot that said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thinking he might listen to reason, I said, “Look, there’s nothing to eat in here. No water. And it’s very scary when those big doors rumble up and down. Trust me, you don’t want to stay here.”

He listened, but didn’t move. He could probably tell I was lying. There was a very good possibility of mice or chipmunks since my husband had recently discovered acorns in the air filters of both cars.

Sighing, I went out to retrieve the car. My plan was to drive in, run the snake out, and mash the button to lower the door. The moving of the car went smoothly, but things headed straight downhill after that.

From the corner, I fetched an old broom and used the straw end to poke him. He curled into a tighter knot and flicked out his tongue.

“OK, we’ll do this the hard way.”

I removed the tabletop Christmas tree from the top of the box pile and dragged the boxes out even farther. Snatching up an empty corrugated box, I turned it on its side and scooted it underneath the snake, pinning him against the wall. Then I had to slide my hand under the flap to flip him into the box as I turned it upright, but I wasn’t too worried. By knotting, rather than coiling, he’d rendered himself pretty much helpless.

I ran into the yard and laid the box on its side. Anticipating his heading for sanctuary in the lilac thicket, I stepped back to watch. That devil raced right back into the garage while I stomped and yelled like a raving lunatic.

I sprinted for the broom and stuck it in front of him. Instead of fleeing, he raised his head in curiosity, his tongue flicking as he stretched toward the smell of broom straw. For a minute, I thought he was going to crawl up the broom; instead, he tried to bite it.

Finally I aggravated him enough to get him moving, but in the wrong direction. He stretched out in front of the closed door. I darted to the wall and mashed the button. As soon as the door opened a little, I shoved him out with the broom and ran over to hit the buttons to close both doors.

And what did Mr. Hard Head do? Went out one door and tried to come in the other. “Oh, no you don’t,” I yelled as I shoved the broom toward his head. The door sensor picked up the movement of my broom and stopped the door halfway down.

A battle royal ensued, with my pushing him away with the broom while he whipped back and forth in a frenzy, occasionally shooting forward in a last-ditch effort to gain entry. I matched his every lunge with a thrust of the broom.

Calling him stubborn and a few other things, I gave him one last big shove and raced for the button once again. Then I ran back to make sure he didn’t slide under before the door came down.

“Come on, come on,” I cheered for the door as it ever-so-slowly rumbled downward. At last the door made contact with concrete. “Yes!” I propped the broom against the wall. Hot and tired, yet exhilarated by the victory, I exited through the side door, triumphant.

I haven’t seen Mr. Hard Head since.

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