We've Gone Batty

Well, I just can't resist blogging this story - so I'm gonna! Yesterday morning I was awakened by the most unusual sentence: "Diane, I think there's a bat in the house!" I was up immediately to say the least. At first glance, it appeared that a rather large mouse had perched atop our vertical blinds in the kitchen and was either dead or asleep. Then after taking a closer look, I could see its ears, and Darrel could see its wings. We decided to call my dad, which I secretly knew would do no good - he's the champion of "this will be good for them to deal with on their own" in these sorts of situations. He didn't disappoint us - he told Darrel to get a pair of leather gloves on and grab it then put it in a WalMart sack and throw it in the trash. Now, at the risk of offending my beloved man, Darrel is not your average "pick up a rodent with your hands" kind of guy. (Is a bat a rodent? I'm not sure.) But after much prodding by me, he got up his nerve, handed me a large wooden stick to hold just in case he needed it, stood on a chair, started to reach up when the devil MADE me poke him in the back with the stick. After picking myself up off the floor from laughing because Darrel yelled at me (Exact words: Now dammit, Diane, that's not funny! - which made it even funnier!) he climbed back up on the chair and grabbed the sleeping bat. Needless to say it did not stay asleep. It screeched and pooped some guano on my floor - yuck! - and into the WalMart bag it went, fangs bared. Darrel then disposed of the bat (I don't want to know how), came back into the house, changed his drawers (ha - just kidding) and went to work.

What a morning to remember...I always knew I had a few bats in my belfry.