IN an Disney film
he's the guy who stole the Prospector's harmonica. The old man pulls his beard and curses in a good natured way, but he's safe on a rock ledge on the cliff face above the man's reach. In a nature film made by or for a school, he's the intelligent desert survivor, thrifty and quick. We'll see him until he meets the female, and then our attention is diverted to her nest building. When that's done, it's not long before the babies are crying for milk next to the harmonica. That's the Packrat I used to know. Today the Packrat is a nasty sob, tearing up anything he can sink his teeth into, and they're big enough that my son mistook a footprint for a Coon.
Dirk, who is our mechanic in town, has an older Caddilac he wants to restore. It's not bad now but needs a few things.
"If I ever catch a Packrat in that car he's dead." Dirk looked at me. "Only not right away. I'll give him food and water, and he can stay in the box while I take off one leg at a time."
I must have looked disaproving. Pretty sick for Dirk to do, and you had to wonder what was inside that would get any satisfaction, let alone glee from torturing a damn rat.
"Well," Dirk lowered his voice, "they're nasty, ruin the upolstery, eat the wiring. They're in every house they can get into."
The first thing I saw looking over the house we'd bought was a dead Packrat on the upper floor's balconey. I thought it was a small dog at first. It looked like he'd jumped into the balconey from the roof, and then couldn't get back out. The roof was too high, the rail solid and maybe too high also, but if he'd made it there was still the 16 foot drop. He probably would have done that if he could, so it must have been the top of the rail was out of reach.
On and off for all the years we've owned the Dodge there's been a packrat tearing away the hood liner. Dirk would get his air hose and spray the nest materials out of the engine bay. The rat kept trying to nest, tearing more insulation each time. It was aggravating.
I got a phone call.
"Munk," he said, "get your gun and come on over. There's a Packrat in the truck." He laughed.
"What?"
"A Packrat. I was working on the truck when I see this flash and then I saw it was a Packrat. We stared at each other."
"OK! Is he still there. Maybe a pellet rifle will work."
"I don't know. He's gone, probably in the shop."
"Oh."
But I came down the hill anyway just to see where the rat had lived and how much truck was left. We were just standing there talking when we both saw the rat behind the engine looking right back at us.
"Give me a weapon." I said. "Anything, a stick, wrench, crowbar maybe."
Dirk handed over a long screwdriver, maybe 19 inches, a phillips head. I could appreciate the phillips head being a nice point, but wondered if the standard wouldn't rip more, cause more damage. Of course, the phillips would penetrate easily, probably deeper.
The Rat had found a shelf above the wheel well and made a nest. It was hard to believe I'd go 80 mph down the highway and she or he would just sit there and enjoy the ride. I'd driven it the day before.
Dirk had the airhose and drove it out. It too fast. I didn't get a shot in at all.
The rat kept going either behind the engine on the transmision or to the other wheel well. But finally I got hm. I couldn't see well and wanted to make another thrust. The rat had to be killed. If it crawled off and died in the wrong place, any place we couldnt reach, he'd stink up the truck.
I dont' know if my second jab worked, but the rat made it away and into the wheel well again. He died in there and we pulled him out.
Dirk noted I'd punctured him near the heart, a perfect below the shoulder, heart/lung shot.
Probably the best hunting I'll ever see.
munk
he's the guy who stole the Prospector's harmonica. The old man pulls his beard and curses in a good natured way, but he's safe on a rock ledge on the cliff face above the man's reach. In a nature film made by or for a school, he's the intelligent desert survivor, thrifty and quick. We'll see him until he meets the female, and then our attention is diverted to her nest building. When that's done, it's not long before the babies are crying for milk next to the harmonica. That's the Packrat I used to know. Today the Packrat is a nasty sob, tearing up anything he can sink his teeth into, and they're big enough that my son mistook a footprint for a Coon.
Dirk, who is our mechanic in town, has an older Caddilac he wants to restore. It's not bad now but needs a few things.
"If I ever catch a Packrat in that car he's dead." Dirk looked at me. "Only not right away. I'll give him food and water, and he can stay in the box while I take off one leg at a time."
I must have looked disaproving. Pretty sick for Dirk to do, and you had to wonder what was inside that would get any satisfaction, let alone glee from torturing a damn rat.
"Well," Dirk lowered his voice, "they're nasty, ruin the upolstery, eat the wiring. They're in every house they can get into."
The first thing I saw looking over the house we'd bought was a dead Packrat on the upper floor's balconey. I thought it was a small dog at first. It looked like he'd jumped into the balconey from the roof, and then couldn't get back out. The roof was too high, the rail solid and maybe too high also, but if he'd made it there was still the 16 foot drop. He probably would have done that if he could, so it must have been the top of the rail was out of reach.
On and off for all the years we've owned the Dodge there's been a packrat tearing away the hood liner. Dirk would get his air hose and spray the nest materials out of the engine bay. The rat kept trying to nest, tearing more insulation each time. It was aggravating.
I got a phone call.
"Munk," he said, "get your gun and come on over. There's a Packrat in the truck." He laughed.
"What?"
"A Packrat. I was working on the truck when I see this flash and then I saw it was a Packrat. We stared at each other."
"OK! Is he still there. Maybe a pellet rifle will work."
"I don't know. He's gone, probably in the shop."
"Oh."
But I came down the hill anyway just to see where the rat had lived and how much truck was left. We were just standing there talking when we both saw the rat behind the engine looking right back at us.
"Give me a weapon." I said. "Anything, a stick, wrench, crowbar maybe."
Dirk handed over a long screwdriver, maybe 19 inches, a phillips head. I could appreciate the phillips head being a nice point, but wondered if the standard wouldn't rip more, cause more damage. Of course, the phillips would penetrate easily, probably deeper.
The Rat had found a shelf above the wheel well and made a nest. It was hard to believe I'd go 80 mph down the highway and she or he would just sit there and enjoy the ride. I'd driven it the day before.
Dirk had the airhose and drove it out. It too fast. I didn't get a shot in at all.
The rat kept going either behind the engine on the transmision or to the other wheel well. But finally I got hm. I couldn't see well and wanted to make another thrust. The rat had to be killed. If it crawled off and died in the wrong place, any place we couldnt reach, he'd stink up the truck.
I dont' know if my second jab worked, but the rat made it away and into the wheel well again. He died in there and we pulled him out.
Dirk noted I'd punctured him near the heart, a perfect below the shoulder, heart/lung shot.
Probably the best hunting I'll ever see.
munk
