the chronicles of a backyard hobbit

facing fears one rat at a time

We have a three foot tall half door underneath our back deck. It’s a half door, a hobbit door. Also under the deck? Dry, seasoned wood waiting to get burnt. The Hobbit door goes to my part of the house - the rough back room, the workroom in the basement. The floor is rough. There are tools everywhere. I really should sweep up the woodchips someday.

My wife calls it my hovel. Outside of my hovel, I have a propped up pallet that I sit on. It’s a great place to enjoy the still of the night. I’m sheltered from most rain, snow and wind. I spend time there most evenings.

As I sat there last night, something ran through my woodpile. I heard a kerfluffle. There was scratching. There was squeaking. In a flash, I saw a bare tail about a foot long. This was a nasty, bald, fleshy tail flashing before me. What happens to you when you’re irrationally afraid?

Me? My hair all stood on end, I held my breath, jumped and shouted all at once. Yes, it’s difficult to hold ones breath and shout at the same tim…