Rattled Nerves Redux

No, it wasn't another snake, thanks goodness. This time it was a baby rat.

I was on my out the door yesterday morning. The dogs were out in the courtyard, and I called them inside. Good little Fenway came running. Dash, who was sitting in the middle of the cobblestone walkway, gave me the ole stink eye and refused to budge.

"Dash, get in here," I called, impatiently rattling the box of dog treats. He didn't move an inch. "Come on, I'm running late and don't have time for this," I tried to reason with my dog.

That's when I saw it. Under Dash's scruffy little paw was a rather sizable baby rat, about six inches long not including its tail.

You know what? The dead baby rat didn't phase me. The six-foot snake incident was a life-changer, I guess. If it's not a six-foot snake, then it's not a problem.

I moved in to get a closer look, but Dash growled. He was protecting his kill.

"Shut up, Dash," I muttered. I thought dogs were supposed to proudly present their masters with gifts of dead mice and the like.

I switched tactics. "Let's go a for a walk!" I said excitedly, trying to divert Dash's attention from the rat. Dash refused to look at me.

I wasn't too upset at this point. Yes, it would be nice if my dog didn't kill rodents. But killing rodents is what terriers do; it's in their blood. And, yes, it would be even better if we didn't have rodents scampering around. But this is the country, and stuff like this comes with the territory. Frankly, I saw plenty of mice and rats when I lived in the mean streets of Chicago, DC and Laguna Beach. For some reason, a country rat is better than an alley rat.

I was jolted out of my zen-like, c'est-la-vie state the second I saw the rat's legs move. Crap. It was still alive. I envisioned Dash beelining it for the house, squiggling rat baby in tow. I could see him hiding under the bed with his toothy hostage. I pictured dozens of rat babies and a giant mama rat emerging from the corners of the courtyard, swords drawn, prepared for a rescue mission.

What's a confident, capable cowgirl to do?

"Honey, can you come home?" I whispered into the phone. Yes, I did make the poor Wrangler come home from the office to handle the rat baby situation, and the good man did not so much as sigh. I love that guy!