The Zoo over Ambuscade Street

You know, I don't know why Damn Rat Bastards even try invading our house anymore. We've made it damn difficult for them just to make it inside, what with all the foam and soap and steel wool blocking all possible entrances - the ones that actually succeed in getting in are determined little bastards. And then they have to run the triple-threat gauntlet: Sara, the attention-whore lab mix who's convinced that she's starving to death and that mice are snacks on the hoof; Fenrir the entirely too energetic German Shepherd puppy who things everything is a game, and likes to jump on (then chew) anything that moves; and Gracie O'Malley the Pirate Cat, who needs no further introduction. Watching the three of them go into seek and destroy mode when an errant moth or fly makes the mistake of entering our house is funny.

Erik spotted a lone, foolish DRB yesterday, and it was, as they say, on. It's pretty much routine at this point - sticks or other implements of destruction are grabbed and then poked behind and under furniture, banged on walls, etc. Animals are summoned. DRB is driven to a spot with fewer hiding places ("Establish a perimeter!" as Erik shouted), and then Summarily Executed. Summary Execution varies in form (including such entertaining methods as OC Spray in a small, enclosed closet, chemical burns, paintballs, or Death by Animal), but in this case took the form of your basic Whack by Stick.

No more DRB. Because we hate them for getting into our pantry and destroying all our food. And chewing on things at night and keeping us awake - anyone who uses the phrase "quiet as a mouse" has never tried to sleep with them around.