Life on a farm for a single girl trying to go it alone can be tough, and each chore accomplished is a major victory. This evening I decided to tackle a stall door. The barn has shifted and the door wasn't closing properly. It just needed to have the latch hole drilled a little bigger. That presented a problem since I wasn't sure if Wuzband (he 'wuz' my husband) left a drill. So I started to poke around his old workroom in the barn. Found a drill! Now I needed drill bits. Poked around some more. Nope. Poked around in the house. Found 'em! I was on a roll! Drilled the hole bigger. Door worked great! Woo hooo! I AM WOMAN! HEAR ME ROAR! I happily patted myself on the back. "Yeah! I'm gonna be just fine. I can do this! A woman can handle a farm by herself!" ........ And that's when the rat fell out of the ceiling.

Suddenly I was no longer Xena Warrior Princess - Master Of My Domain. I was a screaming woman doing the Rat Dance. This is where you dance in place, point, and scream, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Get! Get it! Get it!"

Now this is like a 911 call to dogs. And ever vigilant, my faithful Belgian Shepherds (and 1 Bloodhound) raced to my aid. The rat landed on a 2x4 wall brace (near my shoulder!) and ran along the back of the workroom. He climbed jars filled with screws, old tools, and pvc pipes with remarkable speed. (Rat's have 4-wheel drive, ya know!) Anyway, I continued to scream and point while the dogs fell over each other in their efforts to snatch the rat off the wall.

It finally hid behind some old plastic jugs and there was a lull in the action. Standing on their back legs, the dogs looked to me. I stared back at them. "I'm not gonna pick up those jugs!"

They turned to the rat behind the jugs and then back to me. Clearly, I was the tallest one in the room, and I had the thumbs. They elected me to move the jugs. I was outvoted. So jug by jug, I lifted each away from the shelf. .... And the rat fell down.

I screamed and commenced the Rat Dance again. The dogs did their very best Three Stooges imitation as they crashed into each other in a wild attempt to snag the suspect. The rat scurried through a hole in the base of the wall and the four of us were left panting and gasping for air. (I'm sure the rat was doing a bit of gasping himself.)

The dogs had great fun. They searched for the rat for several minutes while I tried to gain my composure and waited for my heart rate to return to normal. My pack finished up their rat hunt and returned to reassure me that I was safe from rats as long as they were on duty. I was reminded, yet again, that you can run a farm without a man, but you can't run a farm without a good dog... or two or three. We all have different talents that balance out to get the work done. They're not afraid of rats; I'm not afraid of vacuum cleaners, so it all evens out.