My Side Of The Story
We were looking through the calves. My daughter was on the fourwheeler behind me. My father in law was putting out bales of hay for the calves.
As we drove across the pen I said look a chipmunk! It was hopping across the pen, big and grey with it’s long scaly tail stuck straight in the air.
That wasn’t a chipmunk! It was a rat!
Daisy was on the fourwheeler behind us. She’s a good rat dog. I started calling to her, trying to get her to notice the rodent.
It was getting away though. I floored the fourwheeler and we aimed at the rat. It disapeared beneath us.
Slamming on the breaks I turned to look behind. It was still running. Leaping off the fourwheeler I ran for it still calling Daisy. She wasn’t caught up yet, I was there, I did it. My dad always told a story about him stomping a rat that ran under him while he stood talking along Lower Wacker in downtown Chicago. I had to do it, the rat was under my feet already. I forced myself to stomp. The rat squirmed, wrapping up around my boot. I could feel it. Screaming in fear and horror at what I was doing I kept stomping, to keep it from crawling up my leg as much as anything.
Daisy finally got there. I stepped back and let her finish up.
The Goblin Child was cackling historically on the fourwheeler then hopped off to come see it for herself. Upon inspecting the now very dead rat she shrugged and we walked back to the fourwheeler and home.
Daisy was left with her prize. She carried it off the other direction.