a rat called ian curtis

on blessings and curses

We find contentment in many ways.

For this fool, moments of grace and contentment occur when problems seem to take care of themselves.

You see dear reader, we have chickens.

Chickens are a blessing of eggs and hilarity.

And?

They are a blessing that come with a curse.

The curse?

Rats.

I’m not exactly sure of what the rat population is in my back yard but currently I’m happy to report that it is less than it was a couple of days ago.

You see dear reader, we here at Lakeview Meadows not only have rats.

We have depressed rats.

They may be goths. They may be emo.

One thing is for certain, they are depressed.

One rat, we recently discovered in the bucket of water we keep in the coop for the chickens to drink.

It seems that the grain was no good, global warming got it down and it had yet to infect a soul with the boob on neck plague and thus it cast itself into the bucket of shining waters. Though it lacked the garland of crow flowers, nettles and daisys, it was a grey clad Ophelia floating resplendent like a mermaid.

Oh our forlorn ritty little ratties.

(Also when one is forlorn, who is this lorn they were for?)

Just yesterday we found another ritty bitty suicidal rat.

Though it did not leave a note, this rat clearly took its own life.

Evidence suggest it was exploring one of the tupperware drawers that contains garden supplies in our shed. It was likely distraught that I had moved the seed that was formally there. Instead? It found the netting we put on our fruit trees to keep the sparrows away.

In a fit of disappointment and anguish, it entangled itself in the netting and hung itself by its neck.

Well, it may have been less of a depressed Ian Curtis goth rat and more of a perverted Michael Hutchence rat who was having a great wank but took the autoerotic asphyxiation thing a little too far.

Either that or those rats are cowboys and they executed some olde west justice on the little fucker.

If you don’t believe me, please leave a comment and I will share a photo that Laura captured of this deeply troubled rodent.

It is disturbing, so much so even this troll has decided only to share it if you dear reader demand to see the full depravity of the situation. So I’m being a good guy.

And?

Likely some PETA flake would go all batshit on me and call the cops due to my mental and emotional abuse of these shitty little critters.

Anyway… let’s get back to the matter at hand.

Chickens are blessings that bring the curse of rats.

Depressed rats are a blessing that bring the curse of a stinky shed.

So with this new curse?

My wife and I had to deal with the dead rat in our shed. We had to cut it free of it's noose / entanglements, speak with its family and then deal with the remains. Though the pain for the rat was over, the work for my wife and I had just begun.

For doing nothing sometimes is a helpful approach to problems, it doesn't work with a dead rat in your shed. Unless of course you want to breed baby flies and the kind of stink that gives you an excuse to burn down your shed and everything in it.

Sometimes doing nothing is the right approach to life. Problems have a way of solving themselves. Other times, it doesn't work. This can be frustrating as fuck. What's the right answer?

How do we live a good life when rats keep popping up in the chicken coops of our careers and water buckets of our relationships?

There are a whole lotta people making a whole lotta money writing books about the 'right' way to approach this stuff.

But for a troll?

Take it as it comes, trust your nose and when things begin to stink, it may be time to bite the bullet and toss the rat bodies into the compost bin.

And dear reader if you’re left with the thought of what about the poor rat?

Well then you’re more stupid than I am mean.

Luckily, none of you are that asinine.

Stay nasty you rodents.