Rats

Oh rats…     In the country we don’t have field mice, we have “field rats.” My husband, Kenny, is a good ole’ country boy, barn raised in Oklahoma. He told me that his mission in life was to bring everyone of these “field rats” to their death or spread his entire life trying. He despised the rats. Everyone knew if they couldn’t find Kenny, check the barn— there he would sit like a sniper waiting for his victim to run across the barn rafters… Bang!…Bang!…the rat always got away with a squeal, and Kenny swore that he rats were laughing at him. We called this particular rat “throw back” or old school. He appeared to be older, wiser, and very clever. Old school single handily was responsible for everything that was wrong in the barn.     I was okay with “old” throw back residing in the barn eating horse food— living the good life. That did not bother me one ounce. But that all changed one Boene’s farm straw filled Summer night.. I was tipsy— okay, mildly intoxicated, watching the bedroom fan blades turn. When out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn that “old school” was in my room climbing up my lace curtains. Kenny’s arch enemy was in our bedroom. This rat had gone too far… Now the next part of tis story has two versions— mine, which is what really happened, and Kenny’s. I sat up and started to wake Kenny. In my calmest voice I said Darlin, wake-up… now listen, I don’t want you to over react, however, there is a rat resembling “old school” on our curtain— Kenny jumped up and without putting on his glasses— his vision is none existent without them— grabbed a 38 loaded with rat shot, or bird shot some may call it, and fired several rounds at the rat. I fell into the madness and began to scream get him baby— get em! I saw “old school” walk into the closet. I laughed because this was forbidden territory and old school just went into sudden death. Kenny leapt over to the closet and i stood on the bed cheering him on. My husband grabbed the rat and was literally pistol whipping old throw back. Victpry was written all over his face. In a flash that victorious look changed to an ohhhh God, what have I done look. I asked baby whats wrong?— you finally got him, you finally got him. He looked up and said Jennifer, it’s Mickey… I knew Mickey— but responded by saying Mickey who? Sunken in, it was out kid’s pet hamster… “Mickey”—

-Jennifer Lockwood