Playing fetch with Blue, to be honest, is less fetch and more keep-away.
She loves to taunt me with her toy, just out of reach, daring me to chase her.
Yup, she’s faster than me, and she knows it.
But today, fetch got interesting for a whole new reason.
This time of year, the grass is thick, springy, and unpredictable.
One wrong step and suddenly – squeaking.
Squeaking?
Multiple squeaks.
From under the lawn.
At first, I prayed it was just a long-lost dog toy.
But nope, Blue doesn’t get squeaky toys.
She shreds them in minutes.
The squeaks kept squeaking.
Which meant one thing: I’d stepped on a nest.
Rabbits? Maybe.
Mice? Possible.
Rats? Please, no.
Eww.
Just EWW.
And of course, I was wearing flip-flops.
The horror of possibly touching a rat in flip-flops is enough to launch boot season early this year.
From now on, Blue’s getting a full TSA-style pat-down before entering the house.
Sorry, Blue.
No exceptions.
Hopefully, my misstep encouraged the mystery critters to relocate.
But now I’m side-eyeing my backyard, suspicious.
Who else is living under my lawn?
Liz Brenner
Everyone has a story to tell.
Even you.
Especially you.
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