Anybody have any guesses as to how one bat ear attached to the mangled remains of a bat head may have ended up within my fully enclosed back yard? Oh, and if that wasn’t lovely enough, the flagstone patio, on which it apparently came to its final rest, was stained with bat blood. Lovely I know.
The last time Jeff was out of town on business I found a dead kangaroo rat (which in actuality was much smaller than the name implies) on our lawn. I was tempted to shut the back door and keep the kids on lockdown until someone much more thick-skinned than I came along to remove that little rigor mortise havin’ rat from our family sanctuary. The weather was nice though and I knew that if I didn’t dispose of it either Jayce or Cassidy would find a way out anyway and I’d eventually happen upon a make believe rescue scene that would involve a toy fire truck, a jump rope and a dead kangaroo rat. Call me crazy but I chose to man up instead.
I wasn’t alone. Jeff talked me through the whole experience on the phone starting with where to find the shovel in the garage all the way through to the one fail swoop that sent that little bugger sailing over the fence and into the drainage ditch that borders our property. I’d like to say that a sense of accomplishment washed over me afterwards but I’d be lying. Really I was just grossed out and extremely perturbed that my darling husband seems to be unavailable at precisely the wrong time every time.
Okay, maybe not every time because he was, after all, the one who disposed of the aforementioned winged rodent remains when he got home from his business trip today. He called on the way home from the airport and after we exchanged pleasantries about our respective days I told him that I think we had a bat ear in our backyard.
A bat ear.
Did you just say that we have a bat ear in our backyard?
Yep. I’m pretty sure it’s a bat ear. You’ll need to get rid of it when you get here. Oh, and could you pick up some milk on the way?
He’s become accustomed to having conversations like these with me. You know, the ones that if the government had tapped our phone they’d have to blow their cover and speak up just to ask if I was serious or not.
In spite of him being used to this sort of thing from me, I could tell he was doubtful. Why, I really can’t say for sure. April Fools is done and gone. Besides that though, I’m not really one to joke about things like solitary bat ears splayed on our patio. I can’t say I see the humor in that.
He pulled up to the house mere moments later and after the obligatory “I missed you so much, I’m so glad you’re home” hug I ushered him to the questionable body part in the back yard. In his most convincing manly way he gave it a quick once over and then sort of nonchalantly nodded.
“Yep. It is a bat ear.”
Duh. It was hairy and little and attached to a teensy half head with beady little parts (eyes I’m assuming). The ear itself looked like it could also have belonged to a Chihuahua maybe. It was really the half head that gave it away.
Suffice it to say that the ear is gone now as is the bloody stain that accompanied it and painted the picture of its fateful demise. Now I’m only left to wonder how it got there. I’d also like to know precisely what it is about our yard in particular that attracts these creatures to choose it in which to breathe their last. I mean, I know for a fact that some of our neighbors have much nicer yards than ours. At least two of them have pools even.
Sharing, after all, is the neighborly thing right?