Taming of the Shrew

This is not what you're thinking, it's not about the play by Shakespeare. This is about a real, live shrew in our house. Emerson thought at first that it was "a fat mouse," as he put it. It was under our kitchen cabinet this afternoon where we had a mouse a few months ago. We finally got that one out and relocated it to the great outdoors. Emerson removed the trim from under the cabinet and thought he could get it. The mouse that turned out to be a shrew, ran out the other side around Emerson and along the edge of the kitchen. It disappeared under the dishwasher into a hole we never knew existed. Emerson proceeded to dismantle the bottom front of the dishwasher revealing the secret hideout full of wires, but no shrew. He had truly disappeared. Apparently other mice or similar critters had been here before the shrew, from what was visible on the floor underneath. When Emerson tells his story tonight, Scott will probably say "That's life living in the country," as he said before a time or two.

In the last 6 1/2 years of living in our Floyd County farmhouse, we've experienced and shared our living space with numerous critters--not including pets. In separate incidences we've had three black snakes, not poisonous and thankfully a foot or less in length, otherwise neither my husband nor myself would be alive to share this story with you because we would have died from fright. They were found by walking downstairs or around a corner and there it was on the floor--appeared out of nowhere, but somewhere. Then someone, probably one of our sons (it sure wasn't me), had to relocate the snake to a new home outside. We have a house rule: all animals (not our pets) deserve to live, but they must live outside. This includes wasps. Yes, wasps. They find holes in a couple screens in the summer--or this past warm December--and find a way inside. Then we usually get the wasp to crawl onto a piece of paper and then quickly run it outside. We think Emerson is a Wasp Whisperer as he can pick them up by their wings and not get stung. It makes me nervous to watch him though I know the worst that can happen is that he'll be stung, but he loves it. I wonder, does he do it because he is able or because he knows it makes me nervous?

Last year my husband and I were drifting off to sleep. Actually, I was drifting, he was asleep. I heard scurrying sounds in the walls over my head, as I had for several weeks. I figured it was mice and no big deal. I chalked it up, as we always to do, to living in the country and continued to drift. I then heard a definite "ping." No longer drifting, instantly awake. What the heck was that? I laid there determining what the ping was and where it came from, figuring it must have been the ceiling fan. Before I could figure out what it was, I began to hear a whirring noise. It sounded like it came closer then went away, repeatedly. I barely peeked out from under my pillow and I let my eyes adjust to the dark, it took a few seconds. I could see a shape flying around in circles around the fan and knew it was a bat. (We had a similar experience several years ago when we lived in Maine and a bat was in Spencer's bedroom, he was then 6. We heard a scared little boy voice calling, "Papa, Mama, there's something in my room!"). I woke up Scott who couldn't believe he had to get up and relocate a bat outside. He grabbed a bath towel to trap it and threw it. He missed. He missed again. The bat, now disturbed, abandoned its circular pattern and flew helter-skelter all over the room. I stayed under the covers with them pulled up tight to my neck. I offered support and encouragement, "Honey, get it! Don't kill it!" Scott swung the towel again and the bat got stuck inside. Whew. He grabbed his parcel and went downstairs, opened the front door and opened the towel outside. Another critter successfully relocated.