I haven't put up a post in a long time--and even though there have been a lot of good things in the interim (e.g., Thanksgiving, Christmas with family, great nieces & nephews growing up, etc.), I'm NOT going to write about something pleasant. They say writing can be therapeutic, so I'm going to give that a shot and write about the rather disturbing events that have occurred here...
It all started a few days ago when Oscar was alerted to a rustle in the jasmine. Then I had a 'sighting' of something furry--and was too realistic to hope it was a bunny. We are in the suburbs, but aren't that far from the creek and fields--so field mice & rats, yes, rats (can you say 'ewww') do come through the yard. Well the 'rustle' came and went, and it was outside afterall, so nothing happened for a few days. Then as we were retiring for the night last night, we heard the 'critter' again. Mark was really tired, and probably could have just gone on to sleep. Oscar was pretty excited at the prospect of a 'critter' to hunt (dachshunds are hounds you know!). But I was more than a little upset, so my loving husband went out into the dark & cold and set out both our live trap and the rat trap. I point this out to make it clear who has the responsibility for this incident--I guess I made Mark an 'accessory', but I have to admit that it was really my doing.
Again, great husband that he is, Mark checked the traps before he left for work and found them both empty. Oscar and I went back to bed and were awoken about an hour later with the snap of the trap. Other than a lot of relief and a little guilt, this should be the end of my story. But alas, things are never easy... This was not the end of the rat, so it isn't the end of my story. Now I needed to find a way to put the rat out of his misery (and my misery too!) Oscar volunteered (rather enthusiasticaly!) to take care of the rat for me, but I watched him murder a squirrel a few years back and honestly that's a hard thing for a 'mom' to take. Plus it seemed really wrong to let him go after a trapped critter. I considered hitting the rat with a broom and even went outside with the broom in my hand. But it all seemed too brutal, and I just couldn't see myself beating this rat to death--even if now my motives were good (it seems a kind thing to want to end the rat's struggle--until you remember that it is your fault he's struggling in the first place!)
So by that time - I was crying, I am pretty sure the rat was crying, and Oscar was crying too (The rat and I were crying because neither of us wanted to be involved in what was happening; Oscar was crying because he was being left out!). In the end I dropped a rock on the rat (which in immediate hindsight didn't really seem less violent than whacking him with a broom). Then I wondered if he had a wife, kids maybe... Then I thought about how hard it had been for me to watch Oscar kill that squirrel, and I wondered how he was feeling now after watching his 'mother' murder a rat! Will have to watch for signs of doggy trauma.
Is my story over now? Well just about. But I need to tell you that I didn't think this all the way through from the time I sent Mark out to set that trap. And I tell you this so that you can learn from my mistake. It is one thing to order the kill--another thing altogether to have to finish the job yourself! And then comes--disposing of the body. Well, luckily I've had a little practice in this.... When Oscar murdered the squirrel, Mark put the critter in a paper bag and disposed of him that way. So, using the grabber that I use to get to things that are out of my reach, I stood as far away as possible (took my glasses off so that I couldn't get a clear picture of the poor rat body) and put the rat & the trap (did I tell you that he was stuck in the trap through all of this?) into a paper bag and then threw it all (including the grabber!) in the outside trash can.
So other than the lingering guilt--this is the end of my story. The rat is dead & disposed of. I'm feeling bad for his little rat life that I cut short--and for his family. I've checked the front yard a couple of times to be sure the PETA protestors haven't arrived yet. When they come, there'll be no denying this--I feel far too guilty.... and then there's the matter of the evidence in our trash can.
