You remember my sister-in-law left my presence in a huff over my hopelessly male attitude about the wood rat in her outdoor grill. You might remember I in an admittedly devilish mood suggested that when disturbed the wood rat — if it were a male wood rat — might dash up her pant leg.
I thought that was the end of it. But no.
The next time we met she told me the rest of the story. She had an electric leaf blower in her garage. She tied both of her pant legs closed at the bottom, put on a pair of safety glasses, wrapped a bandana around her head, grabbed a kitchen chair, and headed for the backyard and her grill with the rat nest beneath it paying out the electric cord behind her. She tiptoed so as not to panic the tiny creature prematurely. About a foot and a half from the grill she set the chair firmly on the ground and scrambled onto it.
After taking a deep breath to settle her nerves she turned on the noisy blower, which promptly jetted around in a 7 foot circle banging against the chair legs once or twice each circle. Finally getting the wild blower nozzle under control she blasted the ground under the blower all the while checking for attacking rats. Nothing but leaves everywhere.
They must be under the cover near the top! Now with the die cast as it were. She yanked off the plastic cover and blasted everything in sight and when there was nothing left to blast hopped off the chair flipped up the metal cover and looked. Nothing. The wood rat or rats were apparently out shopping of something.
But she felt proud, very proud.