Warning this story contains death, nastiness, and lots of screaming.
The other night, I went out to the BBQ and opened it. To my surprise a HUGE rat had built it’s nest in the top of the BBQ. I screamed and dropped the lid down. My darling husband came running out and grabbed the broom (manly man). He opened the lid and the rat flew out of the BBQ about four feet off the ground. I screamed a lot more. It ran into a water cooler we have on the back porch. After careful examination and lots of broom poking by my husband, we determined the rat had gone into the inside of the back of the cooler.
The whole time, our dog, Daisy, had been circling the water cooler and trying to sniff out the rat.
The best thing I could think to do to get the rat out was beat on the front of the cooler in hopes of scaring the rat out. I beat on it. The rat flew out. Daisy caught the rat mid air and dropped it on the ground. I screamed. The rat ran right at me. I screamed more. My husband stood there holding the broom. Daisy pounced and grabbed the rat and ran into the yard with it, throwing it in the air and shaking it vigorously. Needless to say…the rat did not survive. But to be sure, my husband ran and got a shovel (manly man) and went to check out the status of the rat. It would no longer be frequenting the BBQ on our back porch. My husband used the shovel to carefully place the rat in a plastic bag and took it to it’s final resting place in our trashcan.
That’s how my dog, the Jack Russell-Rat Terrier mix, became a Rat Terrorist.