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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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A Story about Life in the Country by LeAnn R. Ralph One summer morning while I lingered over another cup of coffee, my husband, Randy, rushed into the house, letting the door slam behind him. "You'll never guess what we caught on the fly strip in the barn!" he exclaimed breathlessly. I set down my cup. "You're right. I can't guess -- so maybe you'd better tell me." "You'll just never guess," he repeated, with an expectant look in his brown eyes. I shrugged. "All right. I'll bite. What? Flies?" "No!! -- Well, yes, we HAVE caught flies -- but -- it'sa BAT!" "A bat? What's a bat doing on our fly strip?" "How should I know?" my husband replied. "But now we've got to get it off there." Many people, I know, have an aversion to bats. Maybe it's because they're furry and they fly. Or because they have scrunched up, frowning, evil-looking little faces. Or because they have leathery wings. Bats, however, consume tons of mosquitoes and other flying insects, so that makes them okay in my book. Besides, brown bats are mammals. They're warm-blooded creatures, like us, not cold-blooded reptiles, like a snake. (I guess I'm never going to get over my one memorable experience with a bull snake when I was five.) I accompanied Randy to the barn. By this time, the bat had gotten itself off the fly strip. Now it was down on an old picnic table we had stored in the barn. Its wings were all sticky, and it couldn't move. "We've got to do something to help it," I said. "You stay here and make sure Charlie (our Springer Spaniel) leaves it alone. I don't want the poor thing to become a Charlie toy or Charlie's breakfast. I'll be right back." I went into the house and called around until I found a vet who was willing to talk to me about the bat. The adhesive of a fly strip, I was told, is not especially strong as adhesives go. If we could get the bat into a dark place where it could rest, it would probably get itself cleaned off. Our only problem was to make sure it didn't bite us. I went back to the barn and told my husband what the vet had said. The sticky bat -- who couldn't even unfold his wings -- was now busy grooming. He wasn't much bigger than a good-sized mouse. Lick, lick, lick. . .lick, lick, lick, lick, went the bat. It sort of reminded me of a cat. If you have cats, you know how they are -- one little ruffle in a cat's fur, and it will groom for an hour until it's sure the hair is absolutely perfect again. I donned a pair of leather gloves and then I grabbed a piece of an old board. I held the board down by the bat and nudged it. Without pausing -- lick, lick, lick, lick -- the bat clutched the narrow edge of the board with one tiny foot, then the other. I lifted the board. Lick, lick, lick, lick, went the bat. Then I laid the board across a feed tub. Now hanging upside down, the bat still groomed itself busily, oblivious to the fact it had been moved. I carried the tub -- bat and all -- into the lean-to by the barn where it's much darker and quieter. I set the tub on top of the canoe in the back corner. Lick, lick, lick, lick, went the bat. Later that afternoon Randy decided to check on our unfortunate visitor. While I waited outside, he tiptoed to the back of the lean-to and peeked into the tub. "Well?" I inquired anxiously, when he emerged a few moments later. "It's gone," Randy reported. My heart sank. "Gone? As in 'dead' gone?" "No," he replied. "Gone, as in 'flown the coop' gone. It must have gotten cleaned off enough to find someplace else to hang out until nightfall." Since then we've seen many bats flitting back and forth after dark by the security light in our yard, gobbling mosquitoes, moths and other night-flying insects. And who knows? Maybe one of them is the bat who got stuck on our flystrip. |
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