Rats!!!!!

We thought we had mice in our garage.  I WISH we had mice in our garage.  The creature I chased out of our garage was a rat!  A huge rat!  In fact, it was so huge it could have passed for one of those little purse dogs -- easy.  Or maybe a large purse dog?  There will be no pictures in this post, I promise.  No one needs to see rats or rat traps or anything else related to rats.

You might be wondering why I was chasing the rat in the first place.  It's a good story.  It actually makes me laugh thinking about it, and humor is probably the only way to deal with rats in your garage.  And the rats pretty much laughed at the mouse traps I set out.  They ate the peanut butter, and looked like they had a party in the garage.  This might have gone on for a while, me being oblivious to the size and smarts of the rodents we are dealing with.  But on the second night of trapping the garage, I caught one!  And when I turned over the trap and saw that I had caught one, well, half of one, I screamed.  Because only the head was left in the trap.  The body apparently became dinner for it's "friends".  I shiver just thinking about this, and I actually don't have a fear of rodents.

My poor husband, on the other hand, is not faring so well.  He is terrified of rodents.  The deal we have for pests is that I handle rodents and he handles the spiders.  This has worked out well for me over the years because in all of the 15 years we have lived here, we've never had rodents in our house, or even the garage.  A couple of little mice near the shop is about it.  But the spiders are always about, and with the recent influx of Giant House Spiders, I don't mind the occasional mouse.

So yesterday when I heard Brian calling for me (no, bellowing would be a better word), I knew he'd seen a rodent.  I ran to the garage to find him in the corner telling me that we had a rat in the engine of our newly repaired van.  He'd opened the hood to check on it and the terrifying creature was there.  Right on top of the engine!

We made a plan.  We didn't want him in the garage, so I took off the brake and rolled the van out to the driveway.  Brian stayed a safe distance away.  Then we closed the garage doors.  And after much discussion of how we'd kill the rat, we settled on him using a B-B gun in the hope of shooting it.  (Trust me, this is better than his first idea of using a shotgun!).  I would use a shovel in the hope of hitting it over the head.  We both had our implements of death in hand and were ready.  I started the car.  The rat ran out with Brian shouting to me that the monster was headed for the woods.  I grabbed my shovel and was in hot pursuit.  I brought down my shovel twice and nearly had him.  That rat was fast!  And smart!  He dove into the wood pile before I could squash him and then proceeded to disappear.  Strange, but I felt sharp pain on my leg.

Brian, armed with his BB gun and at a safe distance actually tried to shoot the rat!  He shot me instead.  He SHOT me!  I turned on him incredulously!  What on earth was he thinking?  He had no idea he had shot me; he was aiming for the rat.  Clearly, my rational, calm husband was in another state of sanity at the moment.  The rats had gotten to his psyche.  And clearly, a man gripped with rodent fear should not be allowed weapons of any kind.

I actually laugh hard when I get the whole visual of us in my head.  Brian standing safely away from the action armed with his BB gun, deciding to take a shot while I, armed with my shovel, am in hot pursuit of the giant norwegian rat.  This is something straight out of Modern Family.  Totally a Phil and Claire moment.

And now this rat is toying with us.  We don't know if there are any more, but all of our sealing efforts in the garage are apparently working, because no one has gotten in.  All of the traps are not only empty, but completely undisturbed.  And this troubles me.  Because I know they are out there.  And they know we are after them.  I think they are just waiting until we have relaxed our efforts before trying a new onslaught.  So, they have won in some respects because I don't just open our garage door anymore.  I creak it open, check for rodents, and then tentatively walk out to our car.  The trap setting has gotten to me too.  Every time I accidentally set one off (and this happens a lot more than you would think), I jump and scream.  So the trap snapping, my fear that something is going to run out at me, have combined to make me somewhat paranoid.  I still don't have the deep fear that Brian has, but I am a woman on a mission now.  Bring it on rats!!

Of Mice and Cars

It was the sweet smell of the sarcococca that saved me today.  In fact, the whole wet and rainy garden breathed some new life into my tired, emotionally worn-out person.  We've been in a seriously drawn out stretch of bad luck.  I'm actually wondering which god I pissed off and what sacrifice I need to consider to end this bleak time.  Our bad luck started in November with the storm, and has continued unabated in various forms.  We can't seem to catch a break.

This morning our van wouldn't start.  True, it has a 100,000 miles on it and has definitely seen better days, but it was fine when we parked it last night.  The battery is new, the tank was full...couldn't figure out what was going on.  We decided to deal with the van later.  Hopped over to the Jeep--again, has a lot of miles, but has been working just fine.  It started.  But then the check engine light came on with a vengeance and the jeep didn't sound so good.  We looked up the meaning of the flashing "check engine light", and it said something along the lines of "you have a huge problem with your car, don't even think about driving it."  How on earth could both cars die during the night, on the same night?  What exactly happened in the garage?  I will tell you.  Mice.  And some very smart mice by the looks of it.  We didn't even know we had mice in the garage.  And maybe we didn't until recently, but these mice went to work last night.  They chewed through important wires and sent both cars to the shop for repairs.  Several hundred dollars in repairs.

Those of you who read this blog regularly know that I love animals.  I don't like to kill anything.  Ever.  But tonight I drove to Ace with a mission.  I perused the aisle of death at Ace and weighed my killing options--death by sticky tape, electrocution or the vicious looking Jawz trap?  I went for the traps.  And I just finished lacing our garage with them.  It was satisfying.

We at least have the Jeep back, but the van is spending the night with the mechanic.  Apparently it has been a big year for mouse damage in cars.  The mechanics we spoke to said they haven't seen anything like it.  My neighbor, who also had a mouse nest in her engine (and several hundred dollars of repairs because of their chewing) accused her mechanic of releasing mice into neighborhoods to generate some business.  She was joking.  I think.

Tomorrow, after possibly dealing with the disposal of dead mice, I will head back out to the garden which is sweetly scented and filled with the calls of our winter birds.  In fact, this post was originally going to be about sarcococca ruscifolia--one of my favorite winter plants.  But the mouse and car problem just took over today.  I'd like to say that this plant is a must in the garden.  It is draught tolerant, shade tolerant, very easy going and a nice evergreen shrub.  And in the winter it blooms tiny white flowers that are so fragrant they fill the January garden with the most intoxicating fragrance.

The garden always seems to hold everything for me.  My house might be falling apart, or flooded as was the case in November.  I might be feeling sad, worried, anxious, or angry and the garden is just there.  Ready to hold what is.  And because this last round of heavy, wet snow brought down some big branches, I'll be able to work through my mouse anger in the form of sawing and hauling heavy branches.  Nothing like hard work to release tension!  Oh, and catching those insanely clever mice would make me happy too.

Goat Christmas Tree Recycling

Our girls really object to taking down our Christmas tree.  It's the starkest reminder that Christmas is over--a fact they and most other children have a hard time swallowing.  I am usually ready to take down the tree on December 26th, but that always feels a little harsh.  So we generally leave the tree up until New Year's Eve, and then amidst the complaints of our children, we begin the undecorating process.

As much as I love getting our tree and decorating it, I am equally happy when it comes time to take it outside and put Christmas away for another year.  Our house feels emptier when it is gone, but in a very good way.

Once we've taken off the ornaments and lights, the question becomes what to do with the Christmas tree?  Easily answered since we've had the goats:  it gets recycled in the form of their favorite New Year's treat.  Goats love evergreens!  Our neighbors are catching on to this and we now have plenty of donations for this feeding frenzy.  Last year they ate five Christmas trees!  They have a nice talent for turning once lush green branches into Christmas tree carcasses--eating all of the needles and then stripping off the bark.

They are working away on our tree right now, having gotten up early to get started.  Hay is very uninteresting to them when they have a Christmas tree in their yard.  I have a couple of trees from neighbors sitting in the nearby woods, waiting in the wings if you will.  We try and ration their trees, giving them one at a time.

The best part of our goat Christmas tree recycling program, is how amazing the goats smell!  Not only do they eat the tree, but they climb on it and rub up against it.  They literally infuse their fur with the scent of evergreen.  Silver came over to the fence to me last night and hopped up, hoping for a nice scratch between his ears.  His fur smelled of fir, and his breath was as sweetly scented as the first day we brought the tree into our house.  For the next month while the goats dispatch tree after tree, I will get to smell Christmas every time I go out to the barn.