> Varmint Hall

I recently came to discover that I live in a Varmint Hall too.

It started with the noises in the wall. Finding the feces in the attic confirmed it. Traps proved it, in both the attic and in the crawl space under the old rear additions to the house, which over several additions' time is a rats' warren of brick walls going every which way penetrated by various duct runs.

Urban rats. Norways. Big ones, little ones. 11 of them over the period of a couple weeks, then things slowed down. Time for perimeter protection.

New foundation crawl space vents weekend before last. 5 days later (this past Friday), late afternoon call from home: sensitive nose detects foul odor wafting in house; confirmed not the trashcan; husband has not been neglecting his job.

Nose in crawl space confirmed it. We have a problem. What to do on a Friday evening? Rube Goldberg to the rescue.

First, the handy, trusty, powerful 9" diameter Vornado fan that has been doing various family duties for years and years. Next, 10" diameter insulated flexible duct (the only thing of sufficient diameter available at Lowe's modestly late on a Friday night; 25-feet for a 7-foot job. (Hey! I thought Rube Goldberg was supposed to be economical solutions to problems! After tortuous internal debate, necessity intervenes and defeats the frugal penny-pinching waste-not want-not values drummed into me by my depression-era father. I buy the box.) Finally, the roll of grey duct tape.

Out comes one of the carefully installed 8" x 16" foundation vents. In goes one end of the duct. Lots of duct tape all over the place, and finally the opening is sealed. Now the Vornado is placed in the other end of the duct, facing outward with the switch turned on. More duct tape all over the place. A hermetic seal is accomplished.

I plug in the cord that was carefully trailed out the snout of my soon-to-be foul-breathed snake. Great. It's a reverse rotary switch. Slow is all the way over, fast is right next to the off click-stop. I have it set on slow. Surgery required. Knife to duct. Internal digital probes find offending switch, twist to vornadic velocity. Digits retreat; duct tape suture applied to duct. Plug it in. Whoooooosh! 

Three minutes later, a swarm of large flies is futilely trying to access the carrion.

My negative pressure chamber is working now. Rest comes easily to us that night with un-wrinkled noses.

Saturday afternoon I have finally tracked down an animal removal person that will come to the house. He has the health safety equipment and knowledge I do not...this is no mission for Rube Goldberg. He locates general area, but no joy. His boss will return Sunday morning and continue the search.

Saturday night spent in negative pressure bliss as the flies are now multiplying in an autumn frenzy before the very late first frost.

Sunday dawns to the sweet perfume of banana-cinnamon hotcakes; thankfully the negative pressure rig has held up overnight and I have an appetite.

Mr. Boss comes and applies equal measures of knowledge and stubbornness to the problem. Twenty minutes of rustling around in the crawl space and the Eastern Gray Squirrel I caught in the crawl space when I put in the new vents is produced with much fanfare and delight at demonstrating once again who is The Boss.

Mr. Boss marvels at Mr. Homeowner's contraption. Never thought of that before. Likes the handiwork. Mr. Homeowner is feeling pretty full of himself, although considerably lighter of pocket.

Then last night: more noises in the wall.

Man the Traps! Springs to the latches! Widgeon down the finjabbits! 

dan battlestation becker




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