Chapter 4 - "You really can't fix stupid"

OK, now this is getting slightly out of hand. It just absolutely boggles my mind that one furry little member from the animal kingdom is out-witting and so far winning the war against me, a mature and experienced card-carrying member of the so-called Superior Species on this planet. So far, he has managed to foil my every attempt at catching him. But, the truly worst part is that I find myself avidly watching the Military channel on TV, one of Richie’s favorites, along with him, just to learn how to plan battle strategies. It’s getting to the point where every time I approach my backyard, I hear faint trumpets in the background, ala the movie, “Patton”! In fact, every night when Richie comes home, now, at some point (I NEVER bring it up!) he asks, “How goes the war with Wicky?” , or “How’d he skunk you today?”  I am now at least 4 episodes behind on “Dangerous Housewives” and “Grey’s Anatomy.” This is getting serious.

Well, let me tell you: I think I am going to write a manual on how not to catch a pack rat. So far, the “How To’s” aren’t working, so what the heck? The world needs reverse instructions which just might help to save someone’s sanity, not to mention his or her pride.

What hasn’t worked so far:

With a broom in each hand, I sit on the lid of my hot tub in the gazebo, peering out of the open sliding window toward the side garden, hoping for the chance to spot the little marauder. I was not disappointed. Here he comes, sneaking under Sue and Harry’s fence (next door neighbors), tippy-toing around the birdbath, and comes to a dead stop on the sidewalk. Holding my breath, I slide off the hot tub and on tip toe, I very slowly ease toward the window, broom at the ready.  The idea is to swat him with the one broom;  the second broom is to be a guided missile  aimed at the trap to ‘encourage’ it to close, should Wicky decide to enter it. He suddenly sits up, looks around, and spots me looking back at him! He doesn’t move a whisker – just sits there, staring dead at me!

There we were – Superior Specie Member and lowly rodent, eye to eye. No one’s saying a word. Then, he quickly and unfairly darts underneath the gazebo decking!! Holy Mother of Mice!!!   The little guy’s onto me!  In total creeped- out fashion, I spring onto the hot tub lid, fanning both brooms like Washington on the Potomac,  desperately rowing to nowhere!  Then I hear a cough and I look up to see Harry on his side of the fence, looking at me with my legs outstretched on the hot tub lid, my arms wildly flailing two brooms.  He gives me a funny look, says “Hi, Marie’ in a very soft tone of voice,  quietly backing away, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. What can I say? Admit I’m trying to trap a rat?? NO way. I just tell him I’m killing stink bugs and that seems to suffice (refer to my story on stink bugs – do a search, you’ll find it).

Well, that sure didn’t work! On to battle plan number 111….

“Identify enemy’s escape routes”, from Military channel. OK – good idea. I find one, a small hole next to my tomato garden.  Suspiciously Wicky’s size, the hole is pointed right at my tomatoes. In total frustration, I pick up a large ripe tomato and shove it in the hole, tamping it in good with my foot.  “That’ll keep him busy for a while,” I smirk. The next day, not only was the tomato gone but all that was left were a few seeds and some skins and I swear I could hear a little burp! To add insult to injury, another tomato was sitting perfectly upright, balanced on the 2 X 6 frame of the garden with little bites taken out of it, all the way around the bottom of the tomato! This guy’s not to be believed!!  So, I next  pour some vinegar down the hole – and my friend, Cindi, told me later on that all I did was to provide him with some dressing for his salad! We all need to get a grip.

That night, for the first time, Richie referred to this whole situation as “Patton vs. Ratton” and he actually mimicked the trumpets, which sent me into peals of laughter.

Number 112 –

“The enemy of your enemy is your friend.” Basic Military jargon, it sounds good to me. I decide to try another approach. Since I can’t catch him, how about if I deflect him away, I ponder to myself. A great idea hits me:  how about sending him into Sue and Harry’s yard?! Without further ado, and without engaging brain before putting arms into action, I lob some peanuts into their yard. The idea is, if Harry sees Wicky, I will have a powerful ally because Harry won’t hesitate to obliterate the enemy. OK..relax. I know I wasn’t thinking. Still, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

That night when Harry came home from work, he came over to our fence and began to chat with me, like always. My eyes were nervously darting all around, looking for signs of peanut shells – or worse – when suddenly Harry’s foot connected solidly with a whole peanut. Crunch! 

“How in the heck did this get here?,” Harry asked, glancing down at his foot.
“I dunno,”  I answer dumbly and at that point I decide to come clean (mostly) and tell Harry about Wicky. I wasn’t prepared for his response:  he laughed!

“I’ve seen you outside fiddling with that trap for days, Marie, and have to tell you I haven’t laughed this much in a dog’s age!”, he adds rather gleefully.

“So, how about you help me catch him, Harry? Maybe you could use one of those snap traps,” I offer in my most neighborly manner.

“Oh…..er…..gee….,” he stammers.  “Uh….no, better not. The dog and all…and….” His voice does a fade- out  like an old 1950’s TV show's ending.

What the heck??! I thought Harry lived to catch things!  Don’t tell me – Harry is also rooting for Wicky, as crazy and impossible as it seems!

This leaves me no choice: I have got to come up with a better trap! So far, I have four whole industries involved with helping me:  My husband’s engineering department, my friend, Cindi’s co-workers, our stable owner and her crew, and our wildlife clinic – everyone following Wicky’s and my exploits and so far, nada.

So, I come up with the plan to attach a really long string to the trap and thread it underneath our back door. This way, when Wicky goes for his evening meal, I’ll pull the string which will jiggle the trap and cause the door to snap down behind him, effectively trapping him for once and for all.

Back inside I go. Take up post at door. Watching quietly (trumpets playing softly in background).

As God is my witness, I saw Wicky scamper from under our shed, go right TO the string, sniff it, and then give it an experimental tug with his furry little paws!  NOTHING happens. I pull the string and nothing happens. Of course not! It’s caught underneath my door!

Ron White is correct:  you just can’t fix stupid.

To be continued....