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SUSAN HELLARDThings are far from shipshape this week, as Mindy stands by to repel boarders
You know that thing about rats leaving a sinking ship? Maybe I should take it as a compliment, in that case, that so many furry new recruits are joining HMS Bollitree.
It all started a week ago when I noticed a mysterious little burrow in Chicken Woods. “Hmm… curious,” I thought. A couple of days later, there were more. And then, when I went to fill up the chicken feeder, what did I find?
A very startled little burglar, looking up at me as though I’d caught him taking a shower after rifling the jewellery box. We both squeaked, and then the little rat shot off back to its home under one of the chicken houses.
“This is a job for Exterminator Man,” I told Sparrow, as we watched Captain the terrier run away in terror.
The trouble is, you see, there’s never just one. When we first moved into this house, it was like Hogwarts for rats, and it took months before that wonderful day when the pest controller tapped on the door, smiling from ear to ear, with a mouse in his hand.
“This is good news,” he told me.
“Eh?” I said.
“If there are mice, there aren’t any rats. Rats drive out mice, y’see.”
So that’s why the cats had been coming home empty-handed and we didn’t get the traditional Christmas vole this year. The rats were back.
Our on-site security team is not, if truth be told, quite up to the job. Satchel is doing his best, patrolling the boundary of Chicken Woods for quarry, and dear old Crusoe – our partially sighted, half-deaf and slightly senile border collie – gets very excited when you shout, “Crusoe, rats!” But then she’ll look at you a moment later as if to ask, “What was that you just said?”
So we wait for the man with the van. In the meantime, the chickens are sharing their home with interlopers and the cockerels are very, very cross. But then all the local wildlife is a bit topsy-turvy just now. After several days of unseasonably mild weather, one of the bats woke up, stretched his wings and flapped about the garden, full of the joys of spring. Then he stopped, the temperature dropped and sadly so did he.
A few bumble bees had the same idea and decided to try a bit of flower-visiting, but all they could find was half a dozen wilting roses.
I do hope that’s that, and everyone else stays firmly asleep till the appropriate time of year. I love our bats, and swarms of happily swooping furry folk give you the most amazing display of, er, aerobatics on a summer’s night. I would miss them terribly, as would Ketchup, who likes to play catch-the-bat for hours on end.
Don’t let anyone tell you that bats are no better than mice with wings. They’re much, much nicer.
A bit like hamsters, really – and as you know, I’ve had one of those for years.
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