Bidin~Time
montani semper liberi
- Joined
- May 7, 2002
- Posts
- 19,620
From a few years ago:
Bats in the Belfry
We've kept a bat problem for a few years now. The problem being, they want to use our attic as their little bat homes and we kinda take exception to them inviting themselves to just move in. Unfortunately, there are regulations that must be adhered to when evicting a (few dozen) bat families from ones attic. Not the least of which is "thou shalt not evict bat families during breeding season."
Now, honestly, I don't mind bats, and wouldn't want to do the little homely critters in, neither would I want to put a bat momma out in the cold with a brood of bat babies to feed, so I'm ok with that part of the regulation. However, this also means I can't put the damned playa bats out either. You know the type, always have just the right line for some poor little, innocent, unsuspecting, naive bat girl. The kind that have a veritable revolving door to their bat pad, and leave in their wake a whole gaggle of bat babies of questionable background. (I really WANTED to call them bat bastards, but I didn't think that would be very charitable of me)
So, the bats remained in my attic. At night, they would fly out, one after the other in rapid succession, much like World War 2 bomber planes taking off to bomb some strategic Nazi ammunition dump. Some nights we would sit out on the deck sipping iced tea and count the little winged rats as they were given clearance by some real or imagined bat control tower. It was on one of those nights that the man I've been married to for longer than most of you can imagine without benefit of a Freddie Kruger movie overture, looked at me and said quite seriously, "I hate them little sonsabitches."
I assured him I realized the nuisance factor of bats living in our attic and the cleanup involved and such, but they were God's creatures and they did what they were designed to do and I kinda wondered outloud at him if he didn't think 'Hate" was too strong a word. "Nope', says he, "if I knew a stronger word, I'd use it 'cause I truly hate, Hate HATE them little sonsabitches. As a Matter of fact, I'd rather there be a den of rattle snakes in the attic as those things." Well, I thought that was going a bit far, and possibly tempting fate as we do kinda live out in the sticks, and you just never know when you might insult the Maker of all these creatures and He might just go giving you what you just unintentionally asked for, so I changed the subject.
The next Spring we went about bat-proofing out attic. We shoveled. . .Yes SHOVELED out the bat droppings, and looked around to make sure there were no early arrivals before we added new tightly woven wire mesh to the eave vents. Of course, there were, and that's when the day's work took a comedic turn. The Man of the House, went down to the bedroom and (mercifully) dug out the BB gun.
Now, I say Mercifully, because I watched him and listened to him cursin under his breath, and I was quite prepared to throw myself between him and the inside wall of my house had he reached for the 20 gauge or the thirty ought six, or the 357 pistol. But, to his credit it was only the BB gun, so I followed him back to the attic. Now if you all have never seen a fully grown, strapping man talk to bats as he allows the lever action of cocking the gun, the the aiming and pulling of the trigger in rapid succession, to help him enunciate his descriptive words of distaste for a bat, then you truly have not seen funny. I laughed so hard I nearly fell through the ceiling.
And in case you hadn't guessed, he really really HATES them little sonsabitches
Bats in the Belfry
We've kept a bat problem for a few years now. The problem being, they want to use our attic as their little bat homes and we kinda take exception to them inviting themselves to just move in. Unfortunately, there are regulations that must be adhered to when evicting a (few dozen) bat families from ones attic. Not the least of which is "thou shalt not evict bat families during breeding season."
Now, honestly, I don't mind bats, and wouldn't want to do the little homely critters in, neither would I want to put a bat momma out in the cold with a brood of bat babies to feed, so I'm ok with that part of the regulation. However, this also means I can't put the damned playa bats out either. You know the type, always have just the right line for some poor little, innocent, unsuspecting, naive bat girl. The kind that have a veritable revolving door to their bat pad, and leave in their wake a whole gaggle of bat babies of questionable background. (I really WANTED to call them bat bastards, but I didn't think that would be very charitable of me)
So, the bats remained in my attic. At night, they would fly out, one after the other in rapid succession, much like World War 2 bomber planes taking off to bomb some strategic Nazi ammunition dump. Some nights we would sit out on the deck sipping iced tea and count the little winged rats as they were given clearance by some real or imagined bat control tower. It was on one of those nights that the man I've been married to for longer than most of you can imagine without benefit of a Freddie Kruger movie overture, looked at me and said quite seriously, "I hate them little sonsabitches."
I assured him I realized the nuisance factor of bats living in our attic and the cleanup involved and such, but they were God's creatures and they did what they were designed to do and I kinda wondered outloud at him if he didn't think 'Hate" was too strong a word. "Nope', says he, "if I knew a stronger word, I'd use it 'cause I truly hate, Hate HATE them little sonsabitches. As a Matter of fact, I'd rather there be a den of rattle snakes in the attic as those things." Well, I thought that was going a bit far, and possibly tempting fate as we do kinda live out in the sticks, and you just never know when you might insult the Maker of all these creatures and He might just go giving you what you just unintentionally asked for, so I changed the subject.
The next Spring we went about bat-proofing out attic. We shoveled. . .Yes SHOVELED out the bat droppings, and looked around to make sure there were no early arrivals before we added new tightly woven wire mesh to the eave vents. Of course, there were, and that's when the day's work took a comedic turn. The Man of the House, went down to the bedroom and (mercifully) dug out the BB gun.
Now, I say Mercifully, because I watched him and listened to him cursin under his breath, and I was quite prepared to throw myself between him and the inside wall of my house had he reached for the 20 gauge or the thirty ought six, or the 357 pistol. But, to his credit it was only the BB gun, so I followed him back to the attic. Now if you all have never seen a fully grown, strapping man talk to bats as he allows the lever action of cocking the gun, the the aiming and pulling of the trigger in rapid succession, to help him enunciate his descriptive words of distaste for a bat, then you truly have not seen funny. I laughed so hard I nearly fell through the ceiling.
And in case you hadn't guessed, he really really HATES them little sonsabitches
