It was a lovely, warm October day and as usual, I was had come home at lunch to let the dogs out. I was sitting on the deck, quietly smoking and considering my plans for the weekend while they frolicked and ran about the yard, enjoying these few moments of freedom as I was enjoying it being so nearly the weekend.
There was a noise from the street and all three flew to the driveway gate - their version of neighborhood watch since you never can tell where the invasion will come from - but seeing nothing more dangerous than the mailman, they settled for a quick round of obligatory barking and then lost interest. The little dachshund and the small brown dog lazily wandered back toward the yard and after another minute or two, the black dog followed, head held high, walking proud and carrying a trophy in the shape and form of A VERY LARGE AND VERY DEAD RAT.
Sweet Jesus! I shrieked, bolting upright and skittering backwards like a crab, Drop that thing this minute!
She gave me a mildly puzzled look - she had the filthy thing's tail clamped in her jaws and it's foul carcass was swinging like a pendulum - but she obeyed.
In the house this very instant! I screeched and all three came running like rabbits. It took all the courage and will power I had not to follow but let's face facts, you can't leave a dead rat lying about in the yard and the thought that it might not be dead hadn't crossed my mind yet, so I approached one timid step at a time, caught somewhere between revulsion and doing what had to be done. The damn thing was the size of a well fed squirrel but didn't seem to have any marks - no wounds on its slick little body, no blood on its bloated white belly (either would've put me over the edge, I realized afterward) - so maybe, please God, she hadn't killed it, had just found it already dead. Still, the question remained of how to dispose of it without getting too near. I certainly wasn't going to touch the vile thing and the leaf blower might not be powerful enough and even if it was, where in God's name was I going to blow it to. I thought about the broom and dustpan (that was when I thought but what if it's not all the way dead) and quickly dismissed the idea. There were garden shears on the garage wall but they would require proximity. Cautiously I circled around to the garage and peered inside - not much help there - but then I saw an abandoned sponge mop lying on a piece of moldy cardboard and felt a small flicker of hope. Sure I was going to retch at any second and for the first time in thirteen years regretting the fact I was divorced, I laid the cardboard on the grass near the body and then used the sponge mop to push the corpse onto the cardboard and oh so gently carried the whole thing to the trash barrel and dumped it in. The urge to look inside only lasted a fraction of a second - the what if it's not all the way dead thought had returned so I slammed the lid fiercely - and backed away, the sponge mop raised and at the ready in the event that I heard the scrabble of little rat nails. But there was nothing. Shaken and queasy, I ditched the sponge mop and made my back onto the deck and into the house but I kept an eye on the trash barrel all the same. There was always the possibility that it had been a young rat with a mother and daddy rat, maybe even sibling rats who wouldn't take kindly to its unseemly demise. Worse, it might've been a zombie rat. I stealthily crept back outside and gingerly placed a brick on the lid of the barrel. Then another, just for good measure. Several minutes passed and the rat stayed dead. The crisis had passed with the rat its only casualty.
I put the dogs back into their kennels, telling the black one that we would have a private word later, and got ready to go back to work. On my way out the front door, I noticed The Cat Who Lived in the Garage sitting serenely by the latticework, delicately washing her paws and grooming her whiskers.
It might have been my imagination but I could've sworn she winked at me.
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