Our home in Oregon was on a quiet cul-de-sac next to a green pasture full of several healthy and robust cows. Occasionally, a cow would escape and we would see him wandering up the street without a care in the world. Great teachable moment for the girls and a humorous change of scenery for Scott and I.
One day the pasture needed some draining, so the heavy equipment was brought in and the task was afoot. We were blissfully unaware of what was about to become Scott's challenge of the decade. Not a clue as to what was about to be unleashed on our household in all it's fury. No hint of the coming chaos and terror.
It started in the dead of night. I was sure I heard something crawling around in our heating ducts. A scratching and skittering sound that continued for several minutes. I would wake Scott and he heard the strange noise, but convinced me the sound was in the crawl space under the house and posed no threat to those of us living inside. I trusted his judgement and slipped back into slumber.
Next day I heard it again. It was in the ducts. I was sure. The minute Scott walked in the door he was directed to the heating ducts. He was convinced.
He went to the garage to grab his arsenal of tools. He did not come back. "What is taking him so long" I wondered. Finally, I could wait no longer and peeked into his domain. He reluctantly said he would be right in so I closed the door and continued my mommy duty.
Apparently he discovered what the noise was and he didn't have any idea how to remedy it. He would stand in the dark, wait a second or two, turn on the lights. There running along the bottom of the garage door were rats, big ones. It was like being in a carnival arcade, the shooting gallery. If he had a BB gun, he could have pinged them off one at a time. That was all the information I needed to know.
Next morning, first thing, Vector Control.
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