Critters

I like living rurally. I really, really do.... I love that my kids have the opportunity to run wild on 10 acres, building tree forts and swimming and fishing in the creek and the pond. I like that they get to help raise, ride and eat pigs. I like the clean air and incredible view. Here's what I don't like.

• I don't like the bird with it's many, many feathers that one of our cats put in Jack's bed this morning as a 'gift'.



• Today I don't like the dog (yes, I know he was very cute in a previous post... not cute today) who is freakin' HOUDINI breaking out of his pen no matter what I do to contain him.



• I really don't like the packrat that is banging around in my furnace ducts making a lovely winter home as we speak. Do the cats eat him? Nooooooo....

Our 100 year old farmhouse is very quaint but it is not exactly well-sealed, hence the ease with which a packrat can take up residence. This is not our first packrat. No, the first one made a nest out of something very precious that I can't name here because my siblings will KILL me. (Hi Siblings!) The second one.... well, get comfy because this is a story that you will want to hear. It's a gooder.

Packrat #2 made his presence know through the banging noise he made in the furnace ducts and the smell. Packrats STINK. It's too bad, too because they are really cute. (See picture above) They aren't 'rat' in the traditional sense.... they have furry tails and big cute eyes and they are incredibly social. But.... the stink. Wow. But, I digress.

We had been trying to catch Packrat #2 (PR2) for quite sometime a few winters ago to no avail. We bought the correct traps (BIG TRAPS. Packrats are big) and tried various tasty treats on them. Peanut butter? No. Cheese? No. Bread? No. We were growing tired of the banging and stink but were at a loss at how to get rid of PR2. Until, one fateful night.

I had a friend who was in visiting and we were up late drinking wine and laughing on the couch. Len and the kids were sound asleep and we were having a final nightcap when my friend suddenly screamed and jumped up onto the couch. I looked in the direction where she was pointing and saw PR2 sitting in the vent of the fireplace watching us. I did not scream because I am an experienced, rural woman. Uh huh. PR2 was completely unaffected by the screaming and just cocked his cute little head sideways, curiously watching us. I did what any compentent feminist would do.... I ran and woke up my husband. Len threw on his long johns and came downstairs all bleary eyed. At this point I noticed that he was ARMED. He had his .22 in hand, ready to take on PR2. More screaming ensued, now from both of the women in the house. Laughing, we ran back and hid in the laundry room. PR2 simply cocked his head in the other direction, observing the crazy human behaviour.

Suddenly, from our hiding place by the washing machine, we heard a 'pop' and we ceased giggling and screaming. Wide-eyed silence followed until we saw my 120 lb. rotweiller trying to squeeze herself through the cat-door that leads into the laundry room; she clearly was not interested in being the next recipient of the 'pop'. More hysterical laughing.

Somehow, my husband managed to 'dispose' of PR2 with one shot and no mess. Amazing. We decided that after all of the drama, we certainly needed another glass of wine and my friend (who is from the city and works in a fancy schmancy lawyer's office) shook her head and said "The girls at work are simply not going to believe this."

Rurally living at it's finest.