Ben Willard and the Rats of NIMH

When I was a kid, my stepmother kept a couple of white rats named Laverne and Shirley. I've heard many people say that rats are only as dirty as their surroundings, but that's just not true. It fell to me many times to clean the cage and wash the rats themselves. They hated it; it frightened them and they squeaked, their eyes bulging. They would do their best to scratch and bite me until I put them back in their cage. On the other hand, I was every bit as scared as they were. I always wore big, industrial neoprene gloves and even then was careful not to let their mouths get too near my fingers. I was thrilled when the task was over and I didn't have to touch them anymore.

People have an inborn aversion to rats. Rats are competitors - they'll take your food, and spoil what they don't take with their droppings. They harbor many diseases, and pack rats (also known as trade rats or wood rats) will not just take your food, they'll steal anything else shiny they can find.

We knew that we had rats. We had seen their holes and seen the rats themselves, but only outside the coop.

And then came the Fateful Night.

Hand-to-Hand Combat

I went down to collect the eggs and shut up the coop for the night and was disappointed to find only two eggs. My normal response to this letdown is to yell at the chickens for being so lazy.

"Come on, ladies! Quit holding out on me. I know you can do better, and for the amount you're eating, I expect a lot more from you!"

Now, we suspected for quite a while that rats were stealing the eggs, but we had no solid proof until this night. I was wearing my headlight and chanced to peek behind the nesting boxes, only to see a rat rolling an egg toward a chink in the wall.

I was OUTRAGED! I grabbed our long, skinny rake and proceeded to go after the egg, but the rat wasn't about to give it up so easily. It came charging toward me, but ducked into the space between the wall and the floor just as I was about to thump it with the rake. I retrieved the egg, but was fuming the whole time.

In order to keep the rats from stealing all the eggs, the Pirate blocked off the bottom row of nesting boxes. The chickens are now forced into a group of boxes a foot off the ground, a little harder (but by no means impossible) for the rats to get to. But instead of blocking the front off entirely, he just leaned a long piece of board against it. The chickens can't get into the nesting boxes, but the rats have now turned those bottom nesting boxes into a rat version of U-Stor-It. Every night, I go down to the chicken coop and flip back that board and every night, a few rats scurry away. There's quite a mountain of stolen chicken feed growing in one of those boxes. I'm tempted to cut up a cube of poison rat bait and add it to the box, but I'm worried the chickens might get it too.

The Tiny Gauntlet is Thrown Down

Last night the Pirate went down to put away the chickens, freeing me up for a sewing project. My concentration was utterly destroyed by shouts of a nature and volume that frightened all the horses in earshot (and that's saying something).

I ran to the deck to find out if he needed help, but he was fine. He hadn't been hurt - he'd been rushed by an intimidating crowd of rats! One came from the direction of the feeder and went for his leg. He stomped it, but stomping didn't do it, and that rat got away. As did the SIX others lurking in the lower nesting boxes.

At this point, the rats are eating every bit as much feed as the chickens, and stealing nearly half of the eggs as well. Their droppings are everywhere, including in the compost pile (it's sort of like a giant apartment building with central heating made entirely out of food).

We're getting desperate, but help is on the way. The dogs get here on Sunday.

SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY!!!!!!