Family Week: Tuesday

"I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on."

~ Ugo Betti (1945)

"Especially if you're a kitty."

~ Gigi

Animal Tales

Good Cows.

Bad Cow.

Run, Noey, Run!

We're still having trouble convincing Ida Claire (immediately above) that the electric fence is supposed to keep her from getting out of the paddock... The grass on the other side is just too powerful a temptation, I'm afraid. And, let me tell ya, it's all kinds of fun rounding her up and coralling her back into the barn! It's a whole family affair, with all of us from Dan down to Gabe either holding gates or circling 'round Ida, with waving arms and cow-calls to get her moved back where she belongs.  Noey even  tried to help this last time and ended up running for it -- and gaining a healthy respect for cows. 

Ida is either destined to be sold here soon or fattened up for the freezer, though.  We don't think she'll ever be tamed enough to milk.  Her mother, Phoebe, is getting along very well though, and is gentle and accomodating for us, as is the little steer.  In the stress of the change of her circumstances,though, it seems Phoebe has dried up and weaned her calf (SirLoin), so we'll need to have her bred to be in the milk again in a few months...  I'll keep you posted.

Dog Days

"The Romans referred to the dog days as diēs caniculārēs and associated the hot weather with the star Sirius. They considered Sirius to be the "Dog Star" because it is the brightest star in the constellation Canis Major (Large Dog). Sirius is also the brightest star in the heavens besides the Sun. The term "Dog Days" was used earlier by the Greeks.

"The Dog Days originally were the days when Sirius rose just before or at the same time as sunrise (heliacal rising), which is no longer true, owing to precession of the equinoxes. The Romans sacrificed a brown dog at the beginning of the Dog Days to appease the rage of Sirius, believing that the star was the cause of the hot, sultry weather."
Wikepedia

July 24 -- Aug 24
National Dog Day:  August 11

Egg to Nestling

The girls have been watching this rock dove nest for almost a month now.

When Cathy first climbed up, she was amazed at what a "messy" nest these birds build and was a little surprised that there was only one egg, and that it was pure white and almost the size of a chicken egg.

A week later, Cathy climbed up with the camera and got a picture of the hatchling. What an ugy bird!  She thought it looked like half toad - half bird.   She was very cautious and respectful, though, keeping a distance and not over-staying her welcome.  She and the girls watched from the ground over the next week or so as the soft grey mother bird flitted back and forth from the nest to various places on the property, looking for dinner for the two of them. 

After about a week, Cathy climbed up to see if the homely little bird had grown any feathers, and she had, though they were still thin.    She didn't look quite so much like a toad, anyhow.

But, a week later still, she was fluffy with feathers and getting much bigger already.  The mama bird had been doing a good job.  But, Cathy came in to report one day early this week that she'd seen the mother bird and something was wrong with her wing.  She'd tried to fly out of the nest and fallen to the ground, but then disappeared.  We feared the worst. 

We watched for a day or so to see if the mama came back, but she didn't, so we had to decide if we should try to save the bird.  We seemed to be in the ideal position, anyway -- and having followed her growth from egg to nestling, we knew we had to try.  So, the girls fixed her up a box, with lots of leaves and branches and the original nest from her tree to make her feel at home.

Here she is.  Her name is Maggie, for St. Margaret of Scotland (the feast day on the 10th of the month).  The girls have done the research and found that they need to feed her once an hour from dawn to dusk. They give her alternatively: mushed dog food, strings of chopped lunch meat, egg yolks, syringes of water, and seeds to nibble on nearby.  She's doing well, so far, eating what she's given, and she seems happy (if one can guage such a thing) in her new little world. 

Most of our questions about how to save this bird we've found on the internet, but there are a couple we can only guess at.  For instance, Cathy wonders, "Does she miss the stars at night?"  Anna thinks she must miss her mother, but "do birds really remember each other like people do?"  Theresa is worried we won't be able to teach her to fly or keep safe in the wild.  And I just wonder how we're going to get this nestling, along with three kittens, two dogs, and eight people over the mountains on Friday with only two moving trucks and a minivan... 

I'll let you know how we do.

Three Little Kittens

Have lost their mittens

But they don't seem to care.

"Oh, Mother, dear, it's hot out here;

It's summer in the Northern Hemisphere;

Our mittens we will not wear.

"Meow, meow, meow, meow,

Our mittens we will not wear.

"It's almost July in the temperate zone

And we've packed them  away in their summer homes

with our coats and boots and espresso maker. 

And to tell you the truth, Mom, we'd also prefer,

If it were possible, to step out of this fur

And lie around in our bones."

(Pictured l-r: Julia, Butch, Lizzy)

Wordless (Almost)

The things a kitty has to endure...

Life is Hard.... Can I Have Mine With Chocolate?

Scene I: For the last week or so, Catherine has been watching a nest full of eggs which is rather precariously built in the lower branches of one of our backyard trees.    She's been carefully climbing up every day to spy when the mama, a robin, wasn't around.  She's been giving us daily progress reports, anticipating the arrival of baby robins with the intensity of an adoptive mother.  Yesterday the big day finally came: two of the four eggs hatched and Cathy was thrilled!

"They're so cute, Mommy!" she enthused.

"Really?" I said.  "I'm sure they have no feathers or anything yet, do they?"

"No, but they're so cute!"

M-yeah. Truly, mother love if I ever saw it.

Scene II:  Our good friends from church brought a litter of kittens to give away a couple of weeks ago, and much to Anna's delight (Anna is our kitty girl), we said she could choose one to bring home.  Thus:  Princess Julia Ravenlocks Davis I.  Remember this one?  Anna loves this kitty.  Oh my goodness. 

 But she thought Julia needed some friends to play with and we always appreciate having a goodly number of barn cats so I told her I'd look around for some free kittens and we could get one or two if I found some.  And I found some last week.  Thus:  Butch and Lizzy.  Butch and Lizzy don't hold the same place in Anna's heart as Princess Julia, who is a snuggle-kitty, but everyone generally likes them.

Scene III:  Late Monday afternoon a piercing shriek splits the air.  Butch (the tabby) has climbed the tree and attacked the robins' nest.  Catherine is horrified, anguished, but powerless to do anything.  One of the hatchlings is knocked from the nest, the other one is Butch's dinner.  The girls are screaming to get Butch out of the tree and away from the other two unhatched eggs.  The mama bird has returned and is dive bombing Butch.  The girls are throwing sticks up into the tree.  It's an awful scene.  But Butch doesn't seem to understand that he's the cause of it.  He looks down from the tree with casual interest, somewhat bewildered by the sticks that are whizzing by him.  Finally he decides he'd better find a safer place and climbs out of the tree. 

All the girls are upset, but Catherine is heartbroken.  She scoops up the baby bird and its heart is still beating, though it's very weak.  She brings it in to try to save it, placing it in a shoebox with a warm towel by a hot lamp.  She makes bread soaked in milk to try to feed it.  She sleeps next to it, keeping an eye on it through the night, but by morning, the little thing has passed away.  It's a sad morning.

But by the time I've gotten dressed and poured a cup of coffee, Catherine's gone out and climbed up the tree.  Her duty to the baby bird now over, her first thought is to check what, if anything, is left in the nest.  She comes in, happy to report that two eggs survived the upheaval.  And she's consoled.  We all are.

But everyone is still sorry about the loss of the two little baby birds.


Wrap Up: This incident is just one of many hard realities the children will have to live through.  Relatively speaking it's a small thing, but it's terrible to see them cry over it.  Heaven knows, it's hard enough for me to understand why bad things happen, but harder to help my children understand.  I can try to explain it:  It's a simple fact that cats are hard-wired to prey on birds.  But that doesn't make it easy to accept when you see it happen.

There are so many hard lessons in life.  Why do cats eat birds? Why do foxes eat chickens?  Why does it hail and flatten our flowers?  Why do our big brothers have to grow up and move away?  Why do people we love get sick sometimes?  Why do they die?  Why are there tornados and floods and natural disasters that kill innocent people?  Why does there have to be war?  Doesn't God care about us?  Why does He make us suffer?   Why doesn't He protect us from bad things? 

The only answer I could give the girls about the kitten and the baby birds is that the predator-prey thing is part of the natural order that God made for our world.  One event or instinct brings about another event.  A bird that builds its nest too low in a tree sets itself up for disaster.  A farm without a good farm dog may have its chicken house invaded by foxes.  People who build levees and live right next to the river can expect to suffer from floods.  Tornado alley is going to have tornados.  Countries whose borders are in drought zones will have trouble feeding their citizens.  People who suffer from the fall of Adam will learn from their own greed and corruption.  Mortal bodies die. 

But our souls live forever. 

And this is what we have to depend upon.  God wants us to care for our mortal world and our mortal bodies, but they are not what our lives are about.  We're here to save our souls.  And that means we have to learn the hard lesson about mortality.  Our mortality.  And the mortality of little birds.  Sometimes it's best to learn it a little bit at a time -- as hard as it is --  the fact that nothing on this earth lasts forever.  Not the good times. But not the bad times either.

The first hatchlings are gone.  But we have two more eggs to watch now.  And trees all around us full of nests.  It's all good. 

The kids and I are learning it together.

And if we want we can take it all in with optimism and understanding -- and chocolate.

Meet Einstein (The Rooster)

"Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius -- and a lot of courage -- to move in the opposite direction."

And meet, Lisa, the film taker, who was too busy filming to help with the chasing (much to Dan's annoyance). We eventually ushered the old bird (Einstein, not Dan) back toward the henyard, where I really did throw my camera in my pocket and open the gate just in time for Einstein to gratefully run back in with the hens where he belonged.


Below: You can see more of the chase right up to where I figured I'd better help or Dan would start chasing me...

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."

Other Quotes from Mr. Albert Einstein:

"I am convinced that He (God) does not play dice."

"God is subtle but he is not malicious."

"Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new."

"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."

"The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education."

"God does not care about our mathematical difficulties. He integrates empirically."

"Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school."

"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe."

"No, this trick won't work...How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love?"

"My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind."

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."

"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts." (Sign hanging in Einstein's office at Princeton)

Sad

Warning: long and sad...

It's been a hard pet week for us.  So hard, in fact, that I'm having trouble writing about it, but so many life-changing things have happened, I might as well get it all out. Last Thursday, as you might know, our little puppy, Penny, died suddenly, and everyone was heartbroken.  But, before that happened, Wednesday morning, we got a visit from our neighbor down the road who told us that she had caught our yellow labs, Bella and Grigio, eating one of her chickens, and she feared it wasn't the first time they'd come visiting, as her flock had been steadily decreasing of late.  We thought we had taught Grigio and Bella not to eat  chickens, but apparently we taught them only to not eat our chickens; the henhouse down the road was fair game to them. 

So, our dogs are chicken killers.  This is a cardinal sin in the country.    It's one thing to have a friendly dog that wanders sometimes, but a dog that takes out livestock is a target -- literally.  A farmer is within his rights to shoot a dog that is into his chickens.  Bella and Grigio had put themselves in danger -- and, needless to say, our neighbors' chickens, too. We felt terrible about it, for the sake of our neighbors and for our own sakes, too.  Poor Grigio and Bella, used to having the run of forty acres (and, um, then some) had to get penned. Thankfully, we have an eight foot tall chain-link dog pen, but it's small, the dogs hate it, and we feel sorry for them when they have to be in there. 

Saturday morning one of the children let the dogs out.  Everyone was working in the yard, so we let them stay out, figuring they wouldn't wander away with everyone outside watching them.  But, as it so happens (because it's been that kind of week), a strange dog wandered onto the property.  He looked like a black lab/pit bull mix, and seemed nice enough -- until he got into a fight with Grigio.  Michelle, instinctively (but, foolishly) got in the middle of this fight to try to save Grigio and got bit on the foot.  So, we got all the kids in the house, penned the dogs, and called animal control to come get the offender. Michelle's foot was OK; it had a couple puncture wounds which we treated ourselves.  We already have three (count 'em, three) hospital bills (due to children's freak accidents) to pay for and decided that, since the stray dog seemed well cared for and not rabid, we'd avoid a trip to the doctor.   

But, the morning's incident was not the end of our worries for Saturday.  After the animal control fellow left with the stray, we got back to work, busily mowing and weeding and taking care of our Saturday chores, giving the dogs in the pen little thought until our lunch time break.  We shouldn't have been surprised, considering our luck so far,  when we went to check on Bella and Grigio and they were gone. The children all promised they'd not let them out, either.   Apparently the dogs had figured out how to open the latch on the gate and had taken off to parts unknown.  Dan got in his car to look for them down the road and the girls combed the property.  In the meantime, I was on my way to run some errands, heading first down the highway to the grocery store a couple towns down.  Running through my shopping list in my mind at the time, I wasn't thinking about the dogs at all, until I turned the corner onto the onramp and saw a back-up of five or six cars, and several people milling about -- and my dogs being held by their collars by a couple of guys at the front of the line.  In the moment it took me to pull in behind the cars, turn off the engine and jump out of my car, my heart pounded: shock, alarm, consternation, embarassment, worry, irritation, worry, irritation, and more consternation.

Agh!  What next? What were we going to do with these dogs?  Chicken-eaters in danger of killing themselves and others on the highway?  I had no idea whether or not they usually wandered as far as the interstate, but if this was the first time, it had to be the last, regardless. 

I called Dan, told him he could stop driving the neighborhood; the escapees had been found.  Then brought the dogs home and had a powwow about what to do.  It was a hard (really hard) decision, but we concluded that  Bella would have to go.  She's always been the ringleader; Grigio is so lazy, he wouldn't go anywhere if Bella didn't lead. And we couldn't have dogs that endangered people, much less chickens.  And, at the rate they were going, they were going to end up getting themselves killed.  So, we took Bella to the animal shelter Saturday afternoon.  We didn't want to waste any time; quick goodbyes are the best.  Since we had dealt with the Dumb Friends' League  before, we knew she'd be in good hands there, and we knew she'd be adopted quickly.  Yellow labs are all the rage right now since the movie Marley, and Bella is a beautiful, sweet dog.  ==sigh== But, Bella is gone from our lives, and everyone misses her -- especially her son, Grigio.

Unfortunately, the story is not quite over yet, though.  (Sorry. This all really is a downer.)  Ever since we lost Penny last week, we've been keeping a close eye on her brother, Nickel.  We'd actually hoped that a spider bite killed Penny and not something contagious, but we really didn't know.  Sunday afternoon little Nick seemed somewhat lethargic, but we thought maybe it was because it was hot and he'd been playing all morning.  By Monday, midmorning, though, we knew he was sick.  He had the same symptoms as his sister, inability to swallow and extreme lethargy.  I know there are pet lovers out there who will not understand our next course of action, but  some life decisions are hard, and sometimes our hands are forced to do difficult things.  We can't afford vet bills right now; we can't even afford to pay for our own medical bills, frankly.  We love Nick -- every one of us loved both of those puppies -- but the only way to possibly save him from Penny's fate was to give him away to the Dumb Friends' League and hope their vets could save him.  So, yesterday afternoon, leaving a house full of crying daughters, I drove him into town and signed him over.  Once you do that, they do not call to give updates -- I'm not sure I can call them to find out how he is, even.  But, I'm afraid to know, really.  It's highly possible he will not be saved -- Penny failed so quickly...  And I think we'd all rather not know, and have the hope that he'll survive and someone will adopt him.  So, both of our puppies are gone now, too.

And it's very strange around here.  Strange and sad. Three of our family members are gone, and we'll never see them again. 


Here are the prayers we said at Penny's little funeral the other day.  They're actually a comfort  for me to read right now.

“Blessed are you, Lord God, maker of all living creatures. You called forth fish in the sea, birds in the air and animals on the land. You inspired St. Francis to call all of them his brothers and sisters. We ask you to bless this pet. By the power of your love, enable it to live according to your plan. May we always praise you for all your beauty in creation. Blessed are you, Lord our God, in all your creatures! Amen.”

Prayer of Saint Francis for Animals

God Our Heavenly Father, You created the world to serve humanity's needs and to lead them to You.
By our own fault we have lost the beautiful relationship which we once had with all your creation.
Help us to see that by restoring our relationship with You we will also restore it with all Your creation.
Give us the grace to see all animals as gifts from You and to treat them with respect for they are Your creation.We pray for all animalswho are suffering as a result of our neglect. May the order You originally established be once again restored to the whole world through the intercession of the Glorious Virgin Mary,the prayers of Saint Francis and the merits of Your Son,Our Lord Jesus Christ

Who lives and reigns with Younow and forever. Amen.

And, here's an article I found that was comforting, too:

Thoughts on a "Little Death" by John Mallon

What To Do If You're Catherine and There's a Snake in the Hen House

1. Scream. Loud.

2. Drop the egg basket and run in the house.

3. Bypass Mommy, run straight for Daddy.

4. Watch from the top of the pop-up camper through the crack in the top of the hen house door,

5. While Daddy chases the snake around with a steel-tooth rake,

6. Then, when it rears up and tries to bite him, scream a little more.

7. Run to the house and ask Mommy what we have that we can spray at the snake.

8. Hightail it to the barn to get what Mommy suggested, and

9. Watch Daddy spray the snake with wasp spray to stun it,

10. Then run back to the house again, yell for Mommy, and gasp, "Come Quick! Daddy needs you!"

11. Sigh exasperatedly when Mommy says she wants no part of it (and who wishes desperately the big boys were home instead of out playing baseball!), then hold the door for her expectantly, ushering her out with wildly flapping hands.

12. Hang back in the safety of the doorway with your sisters while Mommy finds an empty storage bin for Daddy to rake the now-groggy snake into, then

13. Skitter back to the top of the pop-up while Mommy tries to clumsily jockey the lid onto the storage bin without the snake jumping out at her.

14. Fearlessly hitch a ride with the snake (which is confined safely in the bin) to the back twenty to relocate it far away from the chickens.

15. Come home and look through the North American Wildlife guide to try and figure out what kind of snake it was.

16. Find out, with a little more investigation with Mommy on the internet that it was a Bullsnake ~ a friend to the high plains farmer, because it eats mice ~ but an unwelcome guest if it's in the henhouse eating eggs.

* We caught it in the act of eating an egg; one was lodged, sidewise in its neck as we chased it around the henhouse! (Wish we'd gotten a picture of it before the egg slid down, but we weren't thinking about the camera until after we'd snapped the lid tight over our captive!)

* It was, incidentally, between four and five feet long, and we're a little concerned there may still be a smaller one in the outbuildings, because Catherine thought she saw a smaller one the other day... (Agh.)

* After the incident, we were talking about how to avoid surprising a snake and possibly causing aggressive behavior. I told the girls one way to be safer is to make a lot of noise when they go into the outbuildings during the summer.

Cathy said: I did make a lot of noise!

I clarified: Before you see a snake, you goose!

Meet the girls

Theresa chatting with Miss Marple

a wyandott

who lays brown eggs

Cathy's got Miss Persnickety

a barred rock
who lays brown eggs

Michelle with Victoria ("The Clydesdale Chicken")
A cochin
who lays brown eggs
and intimidates all the children, except Michelle

Cathy, about to lose Penny

we're not sure of her breed, but think she's a brown leghorn

who is not laying yet

Theresa with Tricki Woo

a brown barred rock

who is laying brown eggs

William and BooBoo Chicken

a white leghorn

who is not laying yet, but will lay white eggs

Gabe and either Maple or Opal (I can't tell them apart...)
a brown leghorn (we think)
who is not laying yet, but should have white eggs soon

Anna with Maple if the picture above is Opal, or vice versa

another brown leghorn, like her sister, above.

William with Tinkerbell

a silver laced wyandotte

who should be laying brown eggs soon

Pictured below, Miss Persnickety,

an Easter Egger,

the hardest-to-catch hen

who lays light pink eggs

*~*~*~*

Whatcha doin' Yuyum?

says I

I'm watching Miss Persnickety so I can catch her,

says he.

You see her hiding under there? ,

says he.

I'm coming to get you, Miss Persnickety!

In your dreams,

says she.

Almost gotcha!

says he

(Psst! Hey, Tricki, go distract him for me, will ya?)

Ha! I threw him!

says she

I gived up,

says he.

And the Lion Lay Down with the Lamb

(In case you didn't guess, Bella is the lamb; Bo is definitely the Lion...)

Got my camera to download!

Thanks to Mighty Mom suggestions!

So, look out! I have pictures backlogged to the Epiphany to share!

But, first, here's a shot of a pile o'puppies:

(Please 'scuse the poor focus on that bottom one... We'll try for better ones later when it's not so windy and chilly outside)

We had fixed up a nice, warm, cozy place for Bella and the pups in the barn, all snuggled in with hay, out of the wind and weather, but for some reason, Bella wants her family under the picnic table in the backyard. Silly dog. We tried twice to take the pups into the barn, but she moved them right back out to the backyard. Maybe it's because it's right outside our bedroom window and she feel secure with us right there, or maybe it's because she knows coyotes won't venture that close to the house. Who knows? Anyway, we did the best we could to make her and the "kids" a tent with a tarp and some strategically placed scrap wood. It looks just awful, but it's at least protected. We hope with the next snow storm, she sees some sense and moves into the warmer quarters of the barn!

Bella and Bo

By moving her "nursery" into our fenced-in yard, our mama barncat, Georgia, managed to save ~ from what we believe was a marauding fox ~ just one kitten out of a litter of four. Usually this mama cat keeps her kittens meticulously hidden from us in the eves of the barn, safe from predators, which is a good thing. But, we're always a little sorry that we never get to see the kitties until they're practically teenage cats, poisoned against us. They never do get tame. But, since this one lone kitty has been so wonderfully accessible to the children from very early on, she's come to be a cherished pet. The children are thrilled!

Since she was born on the feast of St. Rose of Viterbo, the girls named her "Bo," their own version of a saintly diminutive. She's such a fuzzy, sweet little kitty, everyone loves her, but Anna has adopted her. She is Anna's child.

The funny thing about Bo, though, is her relationship with our dog, Bella. Bella knows exactly what cats are for. They are for chasing. It's a game, you know. Sneak around until you find a cat, bark, and race after it until it climbs a tree, then sit at the bottom of the tree barking until it jumps down and you can chase it some more. There's no harm meant, no harm done; it's all just happy exercise. Bella understands her part of the game and the cats know just what to do, too.

Except for Bo. And she mystifies Bella. Bo does not startle. Bo does not run. She's not even a little afraid of this big old dog. When she sees Bella, she stares him down. When Bella pokes her nose at Bo to try to encourage her to play the game, Bo takes a swipe at Bella's nose with her razor sharp little claws. Ow! Man! That's not how you play!

Poor puppy! She doesn't know what to do about this kitten. So, she follows her around. Bella has become Bo's big white shadow. It's hilarious to watch. Here they are this morning on the kitchen window sill:

And here's Bella, getting ready to be really annoyed when Bo shakes her by going under the garden gate...I expect these two will turn out to be a most unlikely pair of best friends as time goes on. But right now, Bella is having a hard time trying to figure out her place in the universe when this little ball of fluff and claws is around. Check out Bella's predicamint this afternoon:

What's a dog to do?

Bats

Laura, over at Catholic Teacher Musings recently had a close brush with a renegade bat at her school, and it reminded me of our bat escapades.

Ewwwww... I get goose bumps just thinking about it! We've had more uninvited critters in this house than I care to remember, but bats top the list as freakiest!

Freakiest as in freaked. out. As in, jumbles of small children and full grown adults tripping over each other squealing like little girls, freaked out.

We've had a couple encounters, but the one that stands out in my memory is the one that happened first. It started out as a quiet, summer night, cicadas humming over the sound of whirring fans. We had six or seven kids at the time, the big boys were between 8 and 12 or so...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A sudden hollar from upstairs startles us first. Then loud bumping and thumping and stomping of feet. A stampede down the stairs, and all the children tumble into the living room, tripping over each other, all talking and screaming at once.

The little girls don't know what's going on; they're just upset because the brothers are upset. And the brothers are upset because:

"There's a bat in our room!"

"A BAT in your room? Did you say there's a BAT in your room? Are you sure it's a BAT?"

"It's a bat alright!"

I look at my husband and he looks at me. A silent exclamation point hovers in the air between us. We both know that this is definitely HIS territory, but he doesn't want to have to take care of it any more than I do. Nevertheless, he steels himself. A real Dad shows no fear in the face of difficulty, danger, and wild animals ~ including bats. So, he takes charge, with Dadlike authority, making a secret grimace in my direction before he leads the charge back upstairs.

"Paul, take the screen out of the window! You and Kevin grab a pillow and help me shoo it out! The rest of you, stay out of the way!"

Our oldest two, Paul and Kevin, manfully obey orders. Not a flinch. This is a great adventure for them! The rest of the children crouch on the stairs to watch the fun. I obediently stay out of the way. Way out of the way ~ like in the kitchen. Behind the door. Where I can hear the fun.

"Where is it?"

"There it is! Right there! Agh!"

Thump! Bump! Thump! Stomp! (Loud Scream.)

"Shoo it out the window! Out the window!"

Bump! Thump! Stomp! (More screaming.)

Then there are sounds on the landing overhead. Obviously they had succeeded in scaring the bat out the bedroom door instead of out the window. Lots of thumps. Girls squealing on the stairs. Thunder of footsteps herding down the stairs. Screams! Squeals!

"It's coming downstairs, Mommy! It's gonna get us!"

Mommy screams. "Where!? Where is it?!"

I know it must be down here, but I can't see it. Everyone's screaming and yelling and running around, tripping over furniture. Daddy and the boys are flailing around in the air with pillows. I peak around the kitchen door, dodging children, trying to figure out where the stupid bat is.

And suddenly, I know where it is! It's coming at me! A black blur with a 5' wingspan. (I swear ~ Big as an eagle!) I scream. Run for the living room. Dive into the couch and pull a pillow over my head. (I'd heard about bats going for your hair, and I had a lot of long hair I didn't want a bat tangled up in!)

Little girls are squealing. One dives into the couch next to me. Boys are running around , yelling, hitting things indiscriminately with pillows. I can hear it. Fwoomph! Crash! Fwoomph! Bam!

"Open the front door!" my husband yells.

"Got it, Dad!" I hear the door fling back and hit the wall.

Fwoomph! Fwoomph! (Right over my head!) I scream. Fwoomph! Fwoomph!

"Head it off, Kevin!"

Little girls' squealing. Boys hollaring. Daddy grunting, "Go, go, go, you danged bat..."

The front door slams!

"Halleluhah!"

It's over. The bat has exited via the front door. With a little help.

I pull my head out from under the pillow, extract a little girl from the crack between the couch cushions, and tentatively look around.

Oh, the devastation. Lamps askew, chairs knocked over, rug corners flipped, boys scattered about, breathing heavily ~ but with a triumphant gleam in their eyes.

They have ousted the beast.

Post Script: I've learned since, in bat unit studies with the children, that bats really are our friends. They serve an important and very useful service for us, eating insects like mosquitoes, for instance. They really present no danger to people and have no interest whatsoever in our hair. Nevertheless, I'm with Laura on this one. Reason cannot overcome instinct. I hate bats. I hate bats. I hate bats.

It's a Dog's Life

Wordless Wednesday