Paula comes into the house and says, “There’s a dead rat in the alley. I need to get rid of it before someone runs it over.” She grabs the rat shovel and a trash bag and heads out, determined.
A minute later, her resolve having fled, she returns. “It’s…still…MOVING!”
I hand her our sleeping daughter, and stroll out with the rat shovel. Sure enough, there it is; a 1.5 pounder, still twitching from the effects of rat poison like a drunk with the DT’s. I scoop it up and stroll to the nearest storm drain…a wrist shot, and it’s a GOOOOOOOOOOAAL.