dlyn

I am sure that my dedicated readers will remember this saga from last month. I did not report again because the news was dismaying – especially to someone who spent $80 on rodent getter-ridder-of-ers. There continued to be intermittent chewing heard, though still not much visual “evidence” [like poop], but we knew that we were still playing host to something we did not want around.

We still had a “chipmunk” trap set in the guest bathroom but the peanut butter in it did not seem to be drawing any attention at all. The night before last, Larry decided that we needed to adjust our strategy and he baited the trap with some salami. I said that I didn’t think that “chipmunks” ate salami – they eat birdseed and my favorite “Evergold” sedge in the back shade garden from what I could see. He said, “It’s not a chipmunk!!!” Whatever.

I need to explain something at this point. Larry is a farm boy. He spent his entire childhood on a farm – the very farm that is right next door to us now. Farmers do not care for rats. Rats get into everything and make a terrible mess, eat the cattle feed, not to mention spoiling what they don’t eat. And to say that Larry’s Dad gets a little excited when he sees a rat would be an understatement of titanic proportion. He completely loses control and puts every fiber of his being into killing any rat that has the misfortune to wander into his vicinity. [you will notice we have transitioned into reality now and are no longer referring to our freeloading tenant as a “chipmunk”] How does he kill them you might ask? Well, let me tell you.

I had not been in the family very long the first time I witnessed what can only be described as the “rat dance”. Eat your heart out Michael Flatley. We were over here visiting the folks and Larry was helping his Dad with some project or other when a rat popped out from wherever it had been holed up. From my vantage point on the porch, I could not see the rat – I could only see Dad, flailing this way and that with his feet, giving out incoherent little shrieky noises all the while. For the life of me, I could not imagine what he was doing. I yelled down to ask Larry what was going on but by this time the look on my face had him doubled over laughing. I can’t remember if Dad actually killed that rat or not, but if he didn’t, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I do recall that he was not happy with Larry because he “hadn’t helped”. Larry had been too busy to “help”, dividing his time between watching his Dad and my reaction to seeing this sight for the first [but believe me, not the last] time.

Fast forward to 5:00AM yesterday morning. I was sleeping. I don’t get up with Larry usually. He can get himself ready for work with no help from me and prefers not to have me schlumping around in his way. [“How long are you going to stand there, stirring that coffee?”] I work at home, so I can wait to get up till he leaves. Yesterday though, something jerked me out of my slumbers prematurely. I became aware of a most curious noise – noises really – coming from the kitchen.

Our bedroom is separated from the kitchen by a short hallway and it seemed to me that the noises were coming closer. The noises were coming closer! There was a loud sort of slapping sound accompanied by little grunts and gasps of dismay. And squeeks.

“Honey?”

“Snort! Gasp!”

I didn’t have to ask what he was doing. My brain recognized the rat dance even if it was taking place out of my line of vision. The hall light came on and then a very bad word was spoken as the curious noises ceased.

“Did you get it?”

“#%$@&, NO!”

“Well…what is it?”

“It’s a rat! I told you it was a rat!………………… Why didn’t I put on my boots???”

“Boots?”

“Yeah – I just have on slippers.”

About this time, I had to stuff my head under the pillows. Despite the fact that there was now a somewhat mangled rat somewhere in my bedroom, bathroom or closet, I was overcome with the thought of Larry out there trying to stomp a rat in his slippers. And while Larry has a very good sense of humor and can laugh at himself quite easily, I had a strong suspicion that at present his blood pressure and the thoughts of what to do next would kind of wash away his ability to see the comedic value in this.

Once I was able to compose myself, I got up, because of course now, sleep is out of the question. I let Riley out of his crate and he immediately made a beeline for the side of the room where the rat was last seen.
He had been waiting quite awhile to see this visitor as this photo, taken with my camera phone will attest. When I took it, he had been standing there, staring at the register for a good 10 minutes, listening to the chewing/rustling sounds the then-chipmunk had been making:

But, he had to go out and pee because peeing comes before breakfast and breakfast is the most important meal of the day, except for supper and treats. He may not be the Einstein of dogs, but he does have his priorities.

During Riley’s breakfast, Larry explained to me that the rat trap was sprung and there was some blood on the floor in guest bathroom. The rat had managed to get out of the trap and come out into the main part of the house. Lar had heard something in the magazine basket at the edge of the kitchen and when he went to investigate, the rat jumped out which is when the stomping started. It must be in his blood or something, this stomping of rats. I could no more stomp a rat than I could explain quadratic equations. My brain simply does not do math and I am sure that if my brain tried to tell my feet to stomp on a rat, my feet would entirely disengage from my body, rather than comply. My feet very firmly insist on heading away from rats, not toward them, and it would be pointless to try and convince them otherwise.

So, while Riley ate his breakfast, I told Larry about my little laughing fit, which by then, he did think was funny, sending us both into the kind of hysterical laughter people have after narrowly escaping death, and then he went to finish getting ready for work. As I stood in the kitchen, stirring my coffee, it began to occur to me that Larry was going to go to work in a few minutes, leaving me with a chipmunk-now-rat someplace in the house. As the horror of spending a day without ever letting my feet touch the floor began to fully bloom in my mind, I heard some more curious noises. I turned to look and saw Riley spit an enormous rat onto the kitchen floor and begin chasing it into the livingroom.

“Um, Larry?”, I said in a calm, mature manner.

He came running because I only behave in a calm mature manner like that when under extreme duress. By this time, Riley and his new playmate were in the livingroom. Since Riley was bowing to look under the bookcase, it seemed logical that the rat was under there. And though my first instinct was to just go get in my van and drive far far away, I knew this was the only chance I had to get this situation resolved before Lar had to leave. So, I went and got the broom and we strategized getting the darned thing out where one of us [translation: Larry] could deal with it. I closed my eyes and blindly poked at the rat, causing it to shoot out, causing Larry and Riley to have a moment of 2 Stooges bumbling over each other, with the rat scooting across the room. It turned a scoot into a dead run into the kitchen, but Larry followed it in there and performed an encore of the rat dance, this time with boots on, proving that he is indeed his father’s son.

It did occur to me for just the teeniest second that this might be a photo op; a chance to really try out the new camera and fully share the Twilight Zone ambiance of this wee-hours-of-the-morning drama with all of you, but reason prevailed and I left the camera in the case.

Thus ends another dramatic tale of derring-do here in the wilderness.
Unless this rat had relatives….