Brotherly love (part 2)

The next day found me strangely uninterested in fishing, so I suggested we get the .22s and go shoot ground squirrels preferably somewhere up in the hills and far away from the river.
We drove to one of our favorite shooting spots, an old homestead on Pleasant Hill. There we parked at the old building site, crossed a fence, and hunted up the draw to the south where we spent the next couple of hours happily terrorizing sage rats. Terrorizing may be too strong a word, but I am fairly certain we did manage to frighten a few.
Inevitably, hunger and/or dwindling ammunition caused us to decide it was time to go back home. Lyle was leading the way when we came to the barbed-wire fence. Since it wasn’t a very tall fence, he simply pushed the top wire down with one hand (The other was engaged in carrying his rifle.) and swung his right leg over the fence. As his foot was descending, he glanced down and noticed that he was about to land squarely on a rattlesnake. Unable to let go of the wire with the pointed barbs scarcely an inch from a rather sensitive area and unwilling to let go of the rifle, he vainly attempted to reverse his course. As he was teetering on the fence, the snake decided it wasn’t happy with the thought of a giant foot landing on it and began looking for an escape route. I don’t recall exactly how long this entertaining scene went on; Lyle teetering back and forth while the snake ran (crawled, slithered, whatever) in circles, but eventually, the snake made his escape and Lyle safely dismounted.
Having witnessed all of the proceeding, I asked with grave, brotherly concern, “Does that dance have a name?”