Taming of the Shrew. Or Devil. Whatever.

This is a shrew. A North American shrew, one with a terrible appetite (high metabolism), one that eats almost constantly, and can attack animals larger than itself, thanks to a paralyzing venom contained in its bite.

This would be what ran up to my foot this morning when I took a break out in the Swing Garden.

Picture me, drinking my raspberry tea, reading my book, and then, out of the corner of my eye, seeing a black shape run up to my foot, bump into me, and then run back the way it came to hide in the logs and rocks on the edge of the carport.

Picture me, jumping up and yelling "WHAT THE .....!!"

The only response was a couple of rustling leaves.

The five dogs just sat and looked at me, useless creatures that they are.

I retreated to the house and started hunting down the D-Con traps, and these weird mouse traps that are like big clothespins. Set and loaded those suckers in all the strategic places.

Meanwhile DD gets up, listens to my tale of woe, and promptly goes out to sit in the Swing Garden.

Shortly thereafter, DD comes in complaining that the shrew ran up to her foot too. Her theory is that he actually lives in the leaves by the cat food. Since there was no cat food out, he wandered over to the logs looking for food. Then I came out and sat down and cut off his means of escape. He attacked and retreated. By the time he got his courage up, DD had come out and sat down. Foiled again.

My wonderful, charming, talented, beautiful 18 year old DD also elaborated on shrew trivia, just so I would understand how important it is that we get rid of said shrew (like I enjoyed having rodents around running up my legs).

She explains that shrews are one of, if not THE, most aggressive animals out there. That they attack and bite and are vicious. They are born in sets of up to three pupmates, but only one survives, because it eats the other two.

Now I am ready to napalm the shrew nest, nay, the entire carport for good measure.

At this point we go out to run errands, and then on the way home, driving by the horse pasture, my aforementioned wonderful, charming, talented, beautiful 18 year old DD says: "Hmmm. Uh oh. Oh, man. Was I thinking of a shrew.....or....a....Tasmanian Devil?"

"Mom, I can't remember if it's the shrew, or the Tasmanian Devil that's really aggressive and eats its litter mates. Remind me to check that when we get home."

Yep, you do that sweetie.

Either way, we have to get rid of the shrew/Tasmanian Devil. but we may need bigger traps.