I have a friend at work who said he's gotten bitten up by a spider recently. For some reason, I keep trying to suggest alternative sources for these bites. Could they be fleas? Dust mites? Bed bugs? Spiders, for some reason hold this mythical place for me as non-biters. Maybe it's that I grew up with cellar spiders (aka Daddy Longlegs) and they are rumored to have mouths too small to bite humans.
How would I know if he had some sort of biting spider living at his house? Why couldn't a spider bite him?
I've had quite a complicated relationship with spiders, especially in the last few years. I fear them and respect them. If they come into my house, they are no longer sacred and I will kill them. If they are outside, I will not. If they scare the bejeezus out of me, any spider within a room's range will be sucked up, too. If they are found to be eating other insect pests, they will get an automatic stay of execution. At least a temporary one.
If there is a mosquito within a hundred miles, it will find its way to me and give me a bite. It has never occurred to me that some of my night-time mosquito bites may have actually been spiders. I've never thought of them as being guilty of biting humans. My fear of them has always seemed irrational, though clearly physiological. I never thought my fear was of being bitten, just fear for fear's sake.
It reminds me again of that Old Wives Tale about how many spiders you eat in your sleep. I heard someone retell it recently and I wanted to argue at its unlikely truth. This biting thing has me wondering though. Is my arachnophobia missing a few layers? Does getting bitten in my sleep and eating them belong beside just their multiple creepy legs and scary persona?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
It's Gone!
The rat is gone. I saw it go, too. Flying.
Yesterday my folks came up for a neighborhood garage sale that was supposed to be epic. I'm sure it was for someone, but not for us. We barely had any traffic and only sold enough to clear the parking deck of the big clutter. After that, we loaded the remainder into my parents' car to go to the donation center.
I couldn't pass up an opportunity to get some handyman help from my step-dad. He's marvelously helpful with things that I just can't do myself. As you may have noticed, I have not been able to deal with the rat by myself.
We started by moving the refrigerator out of the nook. As crazy as it sounds to me now, he got me to position myself in the front of the fridge with my leaf blower, while he positioned himself behind it with the vacuum. When I turned that thing on, the room filled with dust. It was insane. (I ended up cleaning my entire kitchen top to bottom as a result of those shenanigans. What were we thinking?)
I don't know if it was the massive amount of noise that we made or if the sucking or blowing disturbed the rat, but we saw the critter. From where I was, I could see its tail sticking out from under the refrigerator. My step-dad tried to suck at it with the vacuum, but it wasn't working. Finally, he reached his hand in there and grabbed it.
The rat bit at him, though it didn't break the skin. Once in hand we were left with what to do with it. I don't know if I would have done something different if it were in my hand, but my step-dad proceeded to fling it over my balcony. I have no idea whether it could survive something like that. From the place the rat was launched, it's about four stories high. If it survived, it cannot get back into my house because I've sealed it up. If if did not, I'm sure he fed a hungry (larger) critter. Either way, I was immediately sickened by the whole thing. And yet...I felt so much relief that the rodent was no longer living in my house that I nearly cried. I got choked up and gave him the biggest hug ever.
I'm so very happy right now about this. It was no small feat and my gratitude is enormous.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
It's Alive!
After calling the second exterminator, the only pest activity in my house has been seven-billion ants. Even my husband got involved and bought some ant traps because they've been that bad. Before I get ahead of myself, I will tell you about the second exterminator.
The second company was a recommendation of a guy who came highly recommended. This time, two guys show up and do a thorough inspection of my house. I watched the whole thing, very curious about the problem and wanting to learn as much as I can. The two of them crawled in places I would never go and definitely looked around.
What they determined is that I don't have an infestation. All of the evidence they found was of previous inhabitants and that there were no current rats in my house. There was no logical explanation of what I was seeing in the way of the eaten avocado without any droppings. They were perplexed and didn't even try to sell me their services because they didn't think they would be successful in helping me any more than the previous company.
In the course of the inspection, they pulled out my refrigerator, behind which we found a bunch of droppings. Rather than put it away, I asked them to leave it out and that small service was worth the $50 they charged to come out. I cleaned behind it, on top of it and around it. That thing sparkled.
While it was out, I noticed a little something on the back side:
Look at how long that thing is! Some rat had made a nest in my fridge motor with that thing! Even still, I saw nothing.
Fast forward to tonight. It's late. I stayed up to watch the end of the Manchurian Candidate when it occurred to me that the critter might be out and about at this time of night. I snuck back into the kitchen and flipped on the light to find a giant rat on my kitchen counter. I just cleaned it!
I started to get freaked out, having finally confirmed my worst suspicion that a rat was living again/still in my kitchen and stunned at the thought of now what? The rat surely had the same idea and I don't know if it was more afraid of me than I of it. I screamed, just like in the movies, and it ran behind my refrigerator.
Now what?
The second company was a recommendation of a guy who came highly recommended. This time, two guys show up and do a thorough inspection of my house. I watched the whole thing, very curious about the problem and wanting to learn as much as I can. The two of them crawled in places I would never go and definitely looked around.
What they determined is that I don't have an infestation. All of the evidence they found was of previous inhabitants and that there were no current rats in my house. There was no logical explanation of what I was seeing in the way of the eaten avocado without any droppings. They were perplexed and didn't even try to sell me their services because they didn't think they would be successful in helping me any more than the previous company.
In the course of the inspection, they pulled out my refrigerator, behind which we found a bunch of droppings. Rather than put it away, I asked them to leave it out and that small service was worth the $50 they charged to come out. I cleaned behind it, on top of it and around it. That thing sparkled.
While it was out, I noticed a little something on the back side:
It was a ribbon coming out of the back of my fridge. I tugged it. And tugged it. And that damned thing didn't budge. I finally got out the screw driver and took part of the back of my fridge off to find this:
Fast forward to tonight. It's late. I stayed up to watch the end of the Manchurian Candidate when it occurred to me that the critter might be out and about at this time of night. I snuck back into the kitchen and flipped on the light to find a giant rat on my kitchen counter. I just cleaned it!
I started to get freaked out, having finally confirmed my worst suspicion that a rat was living again/still in my kitchen and stunned at the thought of now what? The rat surely had the same idea and I don't know if it was more afraid of me than I of it. I screamed, just like in the movies, and it ran behind my refrigerator.
Now what?
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Why Yesterday Sucked - Uncensored (must be over 18 to read)
My youngest daughter often says that she's having the "worst day ever." She used to use the phrase so often you'd think I was hiring her out to sweat shops for slave labor. Yesterday, however, I totally had to use her phrase as my own and I meant it as well as I could ever recollect necessary.
I was out walking my dog on a very dog-friendly trail - that we've been on quite a bit lately. It's the trail that I take him out on off-leash, which has made my life my with dog here worth living. He's thrilled to meet and greet the other pooches and all was going well.
Right near the trailhead we encountered a huge pack of people and dogs. There must have been ten of each. My dog sniffed at most of them as happy as can be and kept moving along. Without any warning he was about to have an altercation with another dog but I called him off the dog before he had a chance to eat him. (Key words to remember: called off, before.)
The owner of the dog had two dogs. One of which was in the pack and had a friendly encounter with my pooch. The second, for some reason, triggered some sort of response in my dog. If you know me and my relationship with my dog, you know that he's very protective of me and has had some issues with other dogs in the past. He has not eaten any other dogs or cats and to my knowledge is all bark and no bite.
In any case, it's an issue with me that I'm extremely self-conscience about. I'm super-sensitive about this and concientious about keeping my dog on good behavior. I have found, though, that there are two types of dog owners. There are owners who think that dogs are people and those who think that dogs are dogs. The people-dog camp is full of owners with high expectations that the dogs will always be submissive and have tea with you. The dog-dog camp knows that these are animals and act on instincts and will sometimes not get along with other animals but given the chance to work it out amongst themselves, will. Usually, the dogs will figure out who is higher on the ladder and go about their business.
I am straddling the fence as an owner. I expect my dog to behave perfectly, but there have been times where my dog is accused of poor behavior because he looks the part of the aggressor, when it is rare for him to actually start anything. He's a Lab, for crying out loud. He loves to socialize and meet any animal of any kind.
So here we are, on the trail and my friend thinks the other dog must have told my dog that he slept with my dog's mother or something as equally insulting and my dog got ticked off. I stopped my dog from doing anything and the owner - a big man who looks like Kenny Rogers started yelling at me. He said I had to have my dog under voice control and insisted that I walk my dog on a leash. I put my pooch on the leash and was not in the mood to deal with this guy. Only in retrospect, did it occur to me that my dog was in voice control if he did not, in fact, eat the other dog. I was able to stop my dog from doing anything. But this big guy, we'll call him Asshole, just kept taunting me. I told him he needed to put his dog on leash and he let me have it again. Not wanting to get into it further, I started walking back to my car. Asshole was following me and kept saying stuff as we walked in the same direction.
After enough of the taunting, I turned around and told him I was going to put my dog to sleep and he could shut up now. He did. I started crying soon after that. It was like someone put a needle in a water balloon and there was no plugging it up until it was empty.
When I got to the street, my happy-go-lucky dog, tongue and tail wagging looked fine so I took him off leash again. Stupid dog, though, starts walking in the middle of the street and I called him to the side of the road so he would get out of the way for the approaching gold-ish colored Suburban-looking truck. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I look up to see Asshole shaking his head that he has to wait for my dog to get out of his way. The passenger window is rolled down and I think they (yes, THEY, his wimpy wife was with him the whole time) were about to say something to me and must have thought twice after seeing my tears. I called him a Fucking Bastard as they passed though.
When I got home, I was hysterical. If I was going to be bullied off the only trail that was working for me in my dog-walking-misadventures, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't give him up knowing that he has this unpredictable side (you know, where he acts like a dog). I actually considered that putting him to sleep might be the solution. That thought lasted just long enough for me to look at him with his innocent brown eyes and the look of devotion he gives me back.
I called a guy I know who loves him and asked if he wanted my dog. He told me I needed to cool down and not to make any decisions in haste. I would surely regret them. Then, after having heard the whole story, went off about what an asshole Asshole was. Dogs will be dogs.
My best friend then imbued me with her crystal clear insight by telling me that Asshole's dog had to have said something to my dog to start the fight. Then, as only a best friend could, she told me how to act psycho on the guy next time and that he had no right to harass me and I should tell him that I will call the police next time.
Perhaps it's the special spin that I put on my telling of the story, but everyone sides with me. As it should be, of course. And if you don't agree with me or think I'm wrong, just kiss my ass. We'll agree to disagree for now. In any case, since I am the responsible pet owner that I am, I investigated classes for my dog and even looked into muzzles. I was talked out of that by a person at the pet store, however, as being a worse option. More training is the way to go.
My dog really is a good dog. He just wants to protect me and I need to teach him that I'm supposed to protect him, not the other way around. I didn't go on that trail today and I'm not sure I will for a while. Yes, the bully, Asshole, wins this round. I ran my dog today, instead, and that was good for both of us. Sure, he didn't get to sniff stuff and eat grass, but I didn't have to deal with bullies or spend my day crying. Yesterday sucked.
I was out walking my dog on a very dog-friendly trail - that we've been on quite a bit lately. It's the trail that I take him out on off-leash, which has made my life my with dog here worth living. He's thrilled to meet and greet the other pooches and all was going well.
Right near the trailhead we encountered a huge pack of people and dogs. There must have been ten of each. My dog sniffed at most of them as happy as can be and kept moving along. Without any warning he was about to have an altercation with another dog but I called him off the dog before he had a chance to eat him. (Key words to remember: called off, before.)
The owner of the dog had two dogs. One of which was in the pack and had a friendly encounter with my pooch. The second, for some reason, triggered some sort of response in my dog. If you know me and my relationship with my dog, you know that he's very protective of me and has had some issues with other dogs in the past. He has not eaten any other dogs or cats and to my knowledge is all bark and no bite.
In any case, it's an issue with me that I'm extremely self-conscience about. I'm super-sensitive about this and concientious about keeping my dog on good behavior. I have found, though, that there are two types of dog owners. There are owners who think that dogs are people and those who think that dogs are dogs. The people-dog camp is full of owners with high expectations that the dogs will always be submissive and have tea with you. The dog-dog camp knows that these are animals and act on instincts and will sometimes not get along with other animals but given the chance to work it out amongst themselves, will. Usually, the dogs will figure out who is higher on the ladder and go about their business.
I am straddling the fence as an owner. I expect my dog to behave perfectly, but there have been times where my dog is accused of poor behavior because he looks the part of the aggressor, when it is rare for him to actually start anything. He's a Lab, for crying out loud. He loves to socialize and meet any animal of any kind.
So here we are, on the trail and my friend thinks the other dog must have told my dog that he slept with my dog's mother or something as equally insulting and my dog got ticked off. I stopped my dog from doing anything and the owner - a big man who looks like Kenny Rogers started yelling at me. He said I had to have my dog under voice control and insisted that I walk my dog on a leash. I put my pooch on the leash and was not in the mood to deal with this guy. Only in retrospect, did it occur to me that my dog was in voice control if he did not, in fact, eat the other dog. I was able to stop my dog from doing anything. But this big guy, we'll call him Asshole, just kept taunting me. I told him he needed to put his dog on leash and he let me have it again. Not wanting to get into it further, I started walking back to my car. Asshole was following me and kept saying stuff as we walked in the same direction.
After enough of the taunting, I turned around and told him I was going to put my dog to sleep and he could shut up now. He did. I started crying soon after that. It was like someone put a needle in a water balloon and there was no plugging it up until it was empty.
When I got to the street, my happy-go-lucky dog, tongue and tail wagging looked fine so I took him off leash again. Stupid dog, though, starts walking in the middle of the street and I called him to the side of the road so he would get out of the way for the approaching gold-ish colored Suburban-looking truck. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I look up to see Asshole shaking his head that he has to wait for my dog to get out of his way. The passenger window is rolled down and I think they (yes, THEY, his wimpy wife was with him the whole time) were about to say something to me and must have thought twice after seeing my tears. I called him a Fucking Bastard as they passed though.
When I got home, I was hysterical. If I was going to be bullied off the only trail that was working for me in my dog-walking-misadventures, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't give him up knowing that he has this unpredictable side (you know, where he acts like a dog). I actually considered that putting him to sleep might be the solution. That thought lasted just long enough for me to look at him with his innocent brown eyes and the look of devotion he gives me back.
I called a guy I know who loves him and asked if he wanted my dog. He told me I needed to cool down and not to make any decisions in haste. I would surely regret them. Then, after having heard the whole story, went off about what an asshole Asshole was. Dogs will be dogs.
My best friend then imbued me with her crystal clear insight by telling me that Asshole's dog had to have said something to my dog to start the fight. Then, as only a best friend could, she told me how to act psycho on the guy next time and that he had no right to harass me and I should tell him that I will call the police next time.
Perhaps it's the special spin that I put on my telling of the story, but everyone sides with me. As it should be, of course. And if you don't agree with me or think I'm wrong, just kiss my ass. We'll agree to disagree for now. In any case, since I am the responsible pet owner that I am, I investigated classes for my dog and even looked into muzzles. I was talked out of that by a person at the pet store, however, as being a worse option. More training is the way to go.
My dog really is a good dog. He just wants to protect me and I need to teach him that I'm supposed to protect him, not the other way around. I didn't go on that trail today and I'm not sure I will for a while. Yes, the bully, Asshole, wins this round. I ran my dog today, instead, and that was good for both of us. Sure, he didn't get to sniff stuff and eat grass, but I didn't have to deal with bullies or spend my day crying. Yesterday sucked.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Osama is Dead, Long Live Obama
I haven't been writing. I know. I haven't been sleeping, either. I'm very tired. And quite over-caffeinated most of the time to make up for it. Hurray for coffee!
Since I last wrote, my ant problem has not gotten any better. I bought some borax today to try another ant control idea. Let's see if this works.
My family saw the cat catch - and then lose - a mouse in my kitchen. (To her credit, they distracted her and it got away. She's usually quite a killer.) I caught it with a trap that night. Proving that mice are so much easier to manage than rats. I took photos and went on the Internet so that I could figure out it it was a mouse or a baby rat.
Based on the size of the ears and the fact that the tail was more on the long than thick side I'm inclined to believe it was a mouse. I mentioned that I caught it, too, which would imply they're dumber than rats. The puzzling part, however, is that supposedly mice are afraid of rats and will not go near them. The smell of them causes high anxiety in lab tests, too. Does that mean that the rats aren't there anymore? I can't really tell what's going on with them.
And then I found an avocado with a hole eaten out of it.
Today.
What do you think? Mice or rats?
I have called another pest control company and the guy is coming out on Thursday. I'm ready to set my house on fire. I won't, but I'm at wit's end, let me tell you. And as if that is not enough, my dog has eaten the avocado evidence. Is there nothing he won't eat?
Since I last wrote, my ant problem has not gotten any better. I bought some borax today to try another ant control idea. Let's see if this works.
My family saw the cat catch - and then lose - a mouse in my kitchen. (To her credit, they distracted her and it got away. She's usually quite a killer.) I caught it with a trap that night. Proving that mice are so much easier to manage than rats. I took photos and went on the Internet so that I could figure out it it was a mouse or a baby rat.
Based on the size of the ears and the fact that the tail was more on the long than thick side I'm inclined to believe it was a mouse. I mentioned that I caught it, too, which would imply they're dumber than rats. The puzzling part, however, is that supposedly mice are afraid of rats and will not go near them. The smell of them causes high anxiety in lab tests, too. Does that mean that the rats aren't there anymore? I can't really tell what's going on with them.
And then I found an avocado with a hole eaten out of it.
Today.
What do you think? Mice or rats?
I have called another pest control company and the guy is coming out on Thursday. I'm ready to set my house on fire. I won't, but I'm at wit's end, let me tell you. And as if that is not enough, my dog has eaten the avocado evidence. Is there nothing he won't eat?
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