Since early on in our marriage, Eric and I have had a deal. Well, more like, Eric made the deal and decided that it was the deal. I somehow got sucked into it and well, that was that.
The deal is, if something shows up in our immediate vicinity and it is smaller than a dog, it's my responsibility to take care of. If like, a bear shows up, Eric will fight it. This did not become a real possibility until recently and yes, Eric used to use that as an example. He doesn't say that so much anymore. But hey, a deal's a deal.
I received a "smaller than a dog" call on Tuesday.
Eric called from the garage. "Megan! I need your assistance. I found something, and it's smaller than a dog."
Out I go to the garage, and son of a freaking GUN, there is a dead... something, farther back in the garage than I want it to be, especially since I JUST cleaned out the garage, swept everything, and put down enough bait blocks to taze a T-Rex. This thing was dead, arms raised, next to my neatly stacked row of ladders.
Seriously, it may have been a chinchilla.
Now, I know chinchilla's don't live in the wild here, but maybe the neighbor's pet chinchilla got loose and had the misfortune of climbing into the garage and eating a bait block, but whatever this thing was, it was both much MUCH larger than a mouse, and very, very dead. I thought that it could have been a rat, but the face was too soft and the ears too small and round to be a rat.
But, true to the deal, I got out a shovel from the shed, scooped up the dead rodent-of-unusual-size, and tossed it into the woods. And by tossed, I mean held the shovel as far away from me as possible (not unlike how my father holds my mother's purse on the rare occasion he actually agrees to take it from her), and then flung it away from me like it was on fire.
I am really going to have to do something about sealing up the garage.
Alternatively, anyone have a cat? I need a mouser, who can take care of itself, for OBVIOUS reasons.