KateAndDally

Corpses

So yesterday afternoon TLO and I were out back with the dogs when Kate found something and took off with it in her mouth.

TLO: CORPSE!
Me: What?
TLO: We have a CORPSE!
Me: Huh?
TLO (pointing): KATE has a CORPSE in her MOUTH!

Well, Ick.

At the same time, Dally found something equally icky...but she kindly dropped it when ordered.  Kate, Of Course, thought it was a Great Game, and took even a firmer grip on her "corpse."  Oh, it was wonderful.  Eventually we faked her out by going into the house...even she wouldn't dare bring a carcass in, so we pounced and kenneled her, and I collected the "corpses" with about ten plastic grocery bags.

The good news here is that the vermin are eating the bait in the outdoor traps, so we seem to have sealed off their entry into the house.

The bad news is that the "corpses" are poisoned, so it's especially important that we get to the "corpses" before the dogs  do.  Double ick all around.

Critters

I am cleaning out my cell phone pix file, where I have many pix, from both before and during the late fallow period of this blog.  Here's one of a Critter Mama and two of her young.

Here's the story.  One July day I went out to the garbage can, lifted the lid, looked in and screamed.  We'd been visited by Mamma Possum and her four, no, six, no, eight babies, of which two are pictured (fuzzily) here.  The babies appeared brand new, so I think Mamma P nested in our lidless can and gave birth, only to be discovered later that afternoon by me. 

Well.  Obviously they couldn't stay in our garbage can.  I called around and eventually found someone at Animal Control who told me to lay the can down so Mamma P could collect her babies and leave.  I did this and the can began to buzz with weird hissings and clickings, which turned out to be the babies yelling at their mom.  I have to give it to Mamma P, she really tried very hard to collect all her young and get them out, but one baby in particular couldn't hold on -- it would drop off, which Mamma P wouldn't notice.  The baby possum, which I'm presuming was blind, then started the hissing and clicking, which would call Mamma P back.  This happened several times.  Eventually the baby latched on and Mamma P beat feet into the dense brush that lines our southern border with Neighbor Q. 

Sadly, several days later the dogs brought evidence that the baby hadn't been able to maintain its hold.  I shooed the dogs away (this took some effort -- sweet baby Kate was especially aggressive and snappy, you'd think we don't feed her) and dumped the remains back in the aforementioned garbage can.  Some kind of weird irony.  Anyway, here's the picture, which I can now delete from my cellphone.

Because I Know You're Keeping Score

UO announces that the Rat Zapper has claimed its first official victim, 3 months (and $300 bucks) too late.

Owwwwww

Yesterday was D-Day in our house.  We had to put off the carpet cleaning -- twice -- because we couldn't agree on what to move, or get it moved, in time; and I have never vacuumed anything as much as I vacuumed this house -- every time we moved something, the carpet disgorged another ball of dog hair...but we got the carpets cleaned, thank you, Jesus.  Also, the verminators showed up to plug holes, plant bait traps and spray killer dust...a roundabout way to tell you that no, the rat zapper didn't work.  Save your money and call American Pest Management instead.  I knew they were the ones for us when I found their "ID Your Bug" in the Pest Management section of their website...all devoted to different kinds of bugs, and then the link to "vertebrate pests" turns up.  Classy, I thought.  Really classy.

(Kate was so unnerved by all the fuss that she refused to come out of her kennel, and once UO got her outside, she refused to come back in the house.  Dally weathered the whole thing with worried aplomb, but is now shivering in our bedroom, as we're in the grip of bad thunderstorms.  Loud carpet cleaning machines don't scare her, but thunderstorms will kill us all.

This is a true story:  years ago, before TLO was born, she would try to herd the three of us into the downstairs shower stall during bad storms.  It's the only time she ever tried to herd humans - unlike Kate - but she's given up since that shower broke and we started using the stall for vertical storage.  Now she just cowers and shakes.)

Anyway, the little bastards ought to start dying soon, which fills me with delight.  As long as they do it outside my walls.   The rats, not the dogs.

But I digress.  Last night we all slept in our new and permanent bedrooms, although all our stuff is elsewhere in the house, mostly in boxes in the living room. Today we are all wiped out except for TLO, who is fussing about organizing her school supplies, deciding on her room decor and in general anticipating taking over the 2nd grade.  OT Elementary School, look out.

Offering Boy starts middle school on Monday.  It's right around the corner, and truth be told, we kinda sorta bought the house with the idea that he could walk to middle school, in a way, given that OB didn't exist when we bought the house, nor that we were even certain that there'd be a specific Offering Boy; but it was nice to think that our kid(s) could walk to school.  And now he can.  And so we are all in the bedrooms we will occupy until they leave for college.  This is a marker of some sort, like giving up the crib for a big-kid bed, and I feel slightly sad.  And I think UO does as well, sort of...he was all agreeing that we needed to separate the kids by the new school year but when push came to shove last week and we had to come up with a plan of operations, it was "well, eventually...;" so I think I'm not the only parent in the house with nostalgia for the crib days. 

On the other hand, it could just be a natural reluctance to move large pieces of furniture.  I'm there with ya, Big Guy.

Rats

I have a secret shame. 

I walked into the laundry room late a couple of nights ago and caught a glimpse through the open doorway of ...<shudder> something large and brown trundling towards me on a utility room rafter.  It swung left and skittered away into the subceiling and I slammed the door and hot-footed it upstairs, waking a sleepy UO to tell him we've got a ... rat.  "Couldn't it be a squirrel?" he asked hopefully. 

No. It was too brazen.  I lay down and tried to sleep, totally wired and deeply, deeply ashamed.  Rats! Slums have rats, not innocent suburbanites.  We bag our garbage; we don't leave chicken carcasses to rot in our yards like other people do; we scoop our dogs' poop (well, UO does when he's out running with Dally -- it's biodegradable, isn't it?  And if it's in the yard, it gets mulched by Sr. Jose and his loyal crew, right?).  Oh crap.

Years ago, when she was probably less than a year old, Dally went out to pee one Sunday morning.  This was pre-kid, so UO and I were having a nice sleep-in, when all of a sudden a horrible noise erupted from the backyard.  Much growling and shrieking and fussing and I don't know what.  UO shot out of bed and returned shortly to report that Dally had killed a rat.  All by herself.  We praised her bravery and skill and she was most pleased with herself.  Our neighbor The Retiree heard the commotion and asked about it later; when UO filled him in, he nodded sagely and said "it's the dog."  UO pointed out that the dog had brought about the rat's demise, but TR said, "no, it's the dog shit.  They eat it." 

Ugh.

OK, I confess:  I am more than happy to scoop the poop when we're out in public -- this isn't France; I have no more desire to step in dog shit than the next person; it's disrespectful of our neighbors to let one's dog eliminate in their yards; but in my own yard...it doesn't smell (or at least I can't smell it -- the backyard's pretty large); we get rain on a fairly regular basis; and well, you know...it goes away...doesn't it?

Yeah, because icky varmints eat it.  Gaaack.

Never again.  I have reformed.  For the last three days I have kept the girls under an eagle eye.  They squat, I scoop.  Hey, it's a good way to get rid of those plastic bags we get at the grocery.  Excuse me.  Dally has a need.

Well, the hell with her.  I tried.  I'm sure there's a market for Doggy Dittos, little plastic curliques owners could drop to mark the spot while they go hunt up a plastic bag.  In fact, one could recycle golf ball markers this way.  I wonder if my dad will let me use his stash...

I refuse to hang my head.  We can't be the only people who let personal backyard dog poop be personal backyard dog poop. Besides, we've bought... the Zapper!

It should arrive in a few days.  I'll update you on the results.