Wild Kingdom

A Rat Tail Tale

I was on the phone, on hold with the cable company, sitting at my husband’s desk which faces the backyard, when out of the window I saw something bounding along the far side of the yard along the fence.  I thought it was a squirrel or rabbit from the way it scampered, but as it hopped past the chickens (nothing like fresh eggs), not only could I see what it was, I also got perspective on it size.  It was the rat hubby had been hunting, the huge mama digging large holes under our fence line, stealing bird food and dining on our tomatoes.  The one that escaped the rat trap because of her immense size.

But I was on hold, and could only sit there and watch her disappear into the bushes at the far end of the yard.  

As I sat tied to the phone, I took mental inventory of what I could grab to send her to heaven.  The hand gun (not even a consideration); the rifle (not a good idea either and I couldn’t remember hold to load it); pellet gun (no, the scope is broken and I don’t know where the ammo is kept); the shovel (do I really want to break my bush to get to her?)  The first opportunity I had to end my call, I slammed the receiver down and sprinted to the bedroom.  Rummaging through the closet, I saw it.  The quiver!  I grabbed two arrows from it and the bow standing next to it, and ran through the house, and out the back door into the yard.

I need to clarify here that I don’t dislike nor am I afraid of rats.  At one time, we had rats as pets, three Russian Rex which were not only beautiful, but were intelligent and gentle.  Never once were we bitten or even nipped.  One even learned to sit on our shoulders. 

This did not resemble MY pet.  The rats I have issue with are the ones that come uninvited into my yard, digging holes under the fence and feasting in my garden.  Every time we found an tripped trap or half-eaten tomato or cucumbers, I’m pretty sure we were being mocked.  So it’s on!

I had to wake Molly, our lab, who’d been sleeping in the doorway to order her into the house. Thankfully she never saw the pesky intruder.  By now, my adrenaline is soaring, and I’m seeing red.  The nerve of this hairy beast, hanging out in my yard, in broad daylight!  I want this vermin in the worst way. 

From the width of the yard, I take my first shot at the bushes to make sure my nemesis is still in there.  The shake of the thick, low bush (I don’t know what kind of bush it is!) tells me she is, so I move in at a different angle to get the most of my next shot.  I’m probably five feet away when I load up.  I don’t really expect to find my mark in the denseness as I draw back, but I let it go.  The arrow penetrates through the bush, and it begins to shudder.  I hit her!

Can’t say I didn’t feel like Katnis.

I can only see shaft protruding from the shrub, but it’s enough evidence that I got her!  She doesn’t make a sound, not a squeak, squeal or shriek, which I find odd, but the arrow is still quivering (I just punned).  I ran back into the house for more ammo.  Why I thought I’d only need two arrows in the first place, I don’t know?  I hadn’t held a bow since I was a kid.  

Back in position, I evaluate the situation.  The arrow is still moving, so I know I’m committed – I have to finish what I started.  I prepare to take a third shot, but my adrenaline has me running so high  I don’t even expect to even hit the bush.  The excitement of the hunt and all!  I drew back and anchored the arrow at the corner of my mouth, then let it fly.  I hit in the same spot.  The movement stops.  It’s done.

Yeah baby!  Bulls eye!

I waited until the hubby got home before confirming my kill, which was only a formality.  I rested the bow back in its place, and impatiently waited for his return.  I had done my part to protect our domain from rodential (is that a word?) invasion.  His part would be to clean up the bloody mess.  I never had to see the end result, and had no desire to.  I had done the dirty work, I wasn’t about to clean it up too!  I was temporarily a huntress, and would not be the “cleaner” too.

Yep, that’s me. Except it's more accurate to say I was wearing sweat pants &
a wife beater. But even so, I exuded sex and feminism.

When he pulled her out of the bushes, all seven inches of the pest not including her almost equally long tail, we saw the one arrow through her nose and another through her head.  Two words came to mind for us both:  Divine Intervention!  To hit less than a two inch target, blindly, was next to impossible.  The odds were not in my favor, yet my arrows found its target, exactly in her snout and between her beady little eyes.  How was that possible?  Remember I was aiming blindly at the bush, without being able to see my intended target.

The arrows were gingerly removed, and the now deceased rat was placed in the trash.  So apparently, I’m still a good shot with a bow.  Who knew?  

Hold on, you dirty rat!  I'M the hero in this story!

And who knew I’d enjoy it so much!  It was the very first animal I’ve ever killed, and at the risk of offending someone out there, I’ve got to confess it was exhilarating!  For that short time, I felt in control and a bit primitive.  The thrill of the hunt, though not much of a chase.  For a heartbeat, I flashed back to a time when we did have to hunt and kill to put dinner on the table, (although flashing back is impossible, since I’ve NEVER had to kill to put food on the table).

Hubby said he wasn’t planning on getting me mad at him anytime soon.

The kids think I’m a little nuts.  I think I’d have to agree.