rat_sans_doute_aquarelle_et_feutreWar has broken out in Australia. Well, in our household not the whole nation. Actually, to be completely accurate, not even the whole household. Boy Z and I are at war.* With rats.

The months since we had we had to put Timmins down have been tough for a number of reasons. There is the natural mourning and the weight gain from less regular walks and the frequent requests from Boy Z to bring Timmins back “just for a minute”. But one of the unforseen side-effects of being dogless in a vermin filled world is the invasion of our home that has taken place. Our backyard abuts a ravine, wild and tangled with gum trees and bougainvillaea and the occasional banana tree. This is great for spotting koalas and kookaburras and parrots and all manner of lovely native wildlife. But when the sun goes down, the less desirable animals begin to creep out of the ravine in search of food.

Timmins performed two duties when it came to vermin control – directly by killing them and indirectly by cleaning up after Boy Z, who appears to be a nascent Hansel. Now, with no canine defense system, we’ve got murine invaders. Rats. They come into the house at night, scuttering and scurrying and knocking things over. When I stumble out of bed, cudgel in hand, I can see their little serpentine tails slithering under the dishwasher or into a closet. They leave their foul little droppings in our kitchen cupboards. They keep us awake at night with their racket.

conscripts2We’ve also entered the most ferocious part of the Australian summer. Days of hot humid weather that renders our evaporative air conditioning system about as useful as a woolen blanket. So after the third straight night of sleep disrupted by crying baby, scavenging rats and stifling heat, I declared war.

Now, clearly I can’t do a thing about the weather and little more about the crying baby, but by god I can do something about the rats. I like a good fight, especially when there’s a defined enemy and I relish the rare opportunities to display my manliness. I am hunter. Hear my roar.

Step one: weapons. And where better to both stock up the armoury and receive a much needed shot of testosterone than the hardware store?

As I headed for the car, I realised that this was a perfect opportunity to do some father-son bonding. So, I scooped up Boy Z and Not Max – despite warnings from his mother that the former was tired and the latter hungry – and headed up the hill to the hardware store. Boy Z made it about halfway there before falling asleep and Not Max a couple hundred meters further before screaming for food.

I was clearly going to need better soldiers.

conscriptsDespite the quality of my conscripts, I got my arsenal in order and Day 1 of The Great Antipodean Rat War was launched with the deployment of several traps and dozens of poison baits. I decided to make Not Max a non-combatant as rummaging around under the house with a  five month old baby in one hand and rat poison in the other seemed a questionable parenting decision. But Boy Z was an eager solder, helping me to place traps and poison under the house, in the rat room**, shed and garage and demanding about 150 demonstrations of the rat traps.

Every morning since, as soon as he wakes up, the first words out of Boy Z’s mouth are “Where’s the rat?”. We check the traps, check to see if any poison has been eaten, scan for carcasses. The first few days of the war went something like this:

Day 2. Hot and humid. No casualties on either side. Traps untouched. Continued nocturnal activity by the enemy. Allied tempers frayed.

Day 3. Hot and humid. No casualties on either side. Traps untouched. Continued nocturnal activity by the enemy. Continued decline in allied morale.

Day 4. Hot and humid. No casualties on either side. Traps unsprung, bait removed from one. Continued nocturnal activity by the enemy. Allied infighting rife.

But then, just as our fragile alliance began to come undone, was day 5. Beautiful Day 5.

conscriptDay 5. Hot and humid. Victory for the allies! Found an enemy raider dead in a drain pipe being eaten by ants. He avoided my traps, but not my poison. I was going to post a picture as proof, but who really wants to see a decaying rat? But for those of you who doubt my victory, go ahead and click here for proof. I proposed flaying the enemy soldier and nailing his carcass to the front door as a warning to his fellows, but that proposal was vetoed by Dr. O’C.

So, I threw it in the bin. And we enjoyed our first relatively quiet night in weeks.

Today dawned cooler with threatening clouds on the horizon. Complacent in our victory, Boy Z and I took our hastily brewed soldiers’ coffee out on the balcony to survey our rodent free domain.

And saw another rat. Staggering away from the house in the bold morning light. It fell and I thought we had another confirmed kill. As I dashed to get something to club it with, however, it managed to pull itself into the bushes on the far side of the fence. And safety.

So, that’s how it’s going to be, is it?

Rat bastards.**

———————

* Actually, Boy Z probably thinks it is some sort of elaborate game.

** A strange room under our house that I’m fairly confident has served as a grow room at some point in the house’s history. When we moved in, I discovered a dessicated rat carcass, closed and locked the room and hadn’t returned until the recent hostilities.

*** And don’t ever tell me that I can’t write 1,000 words about rats.

————————

Image credits:

Rat drawing

The White Stripes’ seminal “White Blood Cells” is available from The White Stripes - White Blood Cells.

 
icon for podpress  The White Stripes "I Think I Smell A Rat": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 13% [?]