Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh

So last night before buttoning up (Sorry, too much time spent in college with guys in the military) for the evening the Wife takes the Monster out back to handle her bid-ness. Fairly soon thereafter I hear the call, "Honey, can you come down here." (Those readers that are married understand the chill running down my back upon hearing these evil words. Possibly only surpassed by, "Does this taste bad to you?" and "Let's have kids"! of phrases said by women to terrify their mates). Upon hearing this I run (read walk slowly) downstairs and outside.

Upon arriving downstairs, the Wife says did you bring the flashlight. I of course didn't but I could obviously see the problem. There in the wire fence separating our yard from the CSI house is stuck a big ol' rat. The rat brought to mind images of a VC sapper entangled in the barb wire fence surrounding an A camp. (Just watched Tour of Duty on DVD, thanks Netflix). Now the Monster being a typical dog and seeing a possible threat to her Mommy had a typical reaction of running in tight circles in the back yard hoping for blood.

After a brief(shall we say terse) conversation between myself and the Wife, she walked around the back of the house to avoid the rat and got the Monster on a leash and took her around front. With the Monster safely out of the way, I was left alone with the rat. Unsure of what to do, I followed the genetic tendencies embedded in the DNA of all right thinking hominids dating back to the earliest vestiges of man, I poked the rat with a stick. The rat still being alive hissed and wiggled, but couldn't free itself. Being married to a health care professional and spending more time than what could be considered healthy living in hovels shared with any number and breed of rodentia I decided that I should avoid any possibility of picking up some form of disease. (Images in my mind of a poster found throughout the American Southwest warning of the Hanta virus spread by mice and a diorama in the British museum showing blocks of London being burned to cleanse the city of the Plague).

Thus, I made a strategic withdrawal (Run away, run away) back inside the house. The Wife went downstairs to let the neighbors know that there was a rat stuck in the fence and to be careful about letting their dog out. Not thinking we could win the hearts and minds of the rats we called 311. I waited up for awhile to see if the black van would come with men in white coveralls and masks to spray green gas to get the rat. No go. Then, I thought the rats from the rosebush would at least come get their fallen comrade, but alas the rat remains.

Seeing the rat still in the fence this morning and the city calvary no where to be seen I decided to take it upon myself to free it. The rat was still alive but still stuck and unable to move. Thinking rubbing vaseline on the rat was out of the question I decided cutting the fence impinging the rat would be the best way to free what had now become my furry friend. Unfortunately, my wire cutters were not up to the task. Next calling upon some scottish ingenuity I used some hedge clipper from the garage as a miniature jaws of life. By inserting the clippers in the hole made by the wire and opening the clippers I was able to bend the wire outward resulting in the rat falling to the sidewalk. Not being qualified for rodent CPR and left with no other way to revive the unmoving, but still breathing rat. I used a shovel to transport the rat to it's natural home. After, much ceremony, the rat was placed in the alley dumpster, and left in its final resting place.