The Beastmasterer

As if it’s not bad enough to be accosted by creepy crawling critters at work...Val’s home turf has now been invaded by them as well. Even her sanctuary, her dark basement lair, has been usurped!

It started last week, Wednesday, perhaps, when Val exited the master bathroom after preparing herself for the workday. The sweet, sweet thought of a chair nap was on her groggy mind. Until she stepped out the bedroom door into the living room, home of Hick’s La-Z-Boy.

REE REE REE…REE REE REE…REE REE REE

No. It was not an anemic smoke detector. Hick took the battery out of that nuisance and declared that a new battery did nothing to restore its health, and left it, door hanging open, still attached to the ceiling. No. This was not a mechanical noise. It was a critter noise. A cricket. Coming up the stairwell, sounding like Crikey was sitting on the beanbag chair in front of the big screen, the chair that The Pony had strewn with SAT practice materials and discarded college recruiting propaganda.

By the time Val plopped herself in the La-Z-Boy, draped herself with an afghan, and reclined herself to a comfortable position…the REE REE REE sounded like it was directly under her rumpus. That was not possible, of course. But the direction of the REE REE REE had changed. No sleep for the wicked weary.

The Pony emerged from his room and began his morning toilette.

“Pony. Do you hear that?”

“Yeah. It’s a cricket. I heard it last night.”

“I sounds like it’s right under me.”

“No. It was in the workshop when I heard it.”

“This morning it was out by the TV. Now it’s under me. Look for it when you go downstairs. And kill it.”

Off he went. “Um. There won’t be any killing this morning. It’s in the wall. Right by the door of your office.”

MY DARK BASEMENT LAIR! Bespoiled by a cricket. Crikey!

“Well, the good thing is, we know that it moves. Maybe it will be out of the wall when we get home.” And it was. But there was a new problem.

“Um. Mom! There’s a millipede down here!”

“Kill it! But don’t stomp on it! That will make a big mess!” Have you seen the size of millipedes we get around the homestead? (Not a rhetorical question. Here's a glimpse, from back in the day, a flash from the past, on Val's very first blog.) “Get a paper towel. Or two! Grab it and throw it outside. I don’t even care if you kill it. Just get it out. Throw it out in the front yard for the chickens to eat.”

So The Pony set about his task. In his own way. Prancing to his own Pony drummer. I kept waiting for him to run up the stairs and chuck that beast outside. But no. I heard door after door. Workshop. Basement. Basement. Workshop. Like the beginning of a Get Smart episode. That darn Pony threw the millipede out the basement door!

“Got him. I tossed him out back. Over the concrete retaining wall. Where the chickens gather under the porch.”

All well and good, unless the chickens were out free-ranging. Because then that beast could march on all his million legs right back under the basement door. The door which The Pony needed two hands to open, what with the dead bolt on a spring that requires superhuman strength, and the doorknob that must be turned at the same time.

I wonder where The Pony got a third hand for that operation.

It’s not like HE has a million of ‘em.