A losing battle...

Well folks, I threatened to wage war on the mice in my tent. I lost. (Sorta)

That rat* that spent the night with me in my tent and ruined my stash of nighttime cold meds? He came back. He brought friends.

I was held captive in my tent for the next two nights, forced awake by their taunting and scampering. With only my head lamp to aid me, I would catch them in the spotlight, red handed, and stare them down. They would stop and stare back at me, ridiculing me until I would admit defeat, cower back under my mosquito net and attempt to sleep. What could I do? It was the middle of the night, I was in a tent and they were... rats! Ew!

And then, out of sheer spite, one had the audacity to bite me - while I was sleeping!

(Don’t ever google what diseases you can get from a rat.)

My disturbed nights really affected me. My colleagues even noticed the difference and commented on how I had lost my sparkle. I was tired. Did you hear that people? They. Stole. My. Sparkle.

That was it. I’d had enough. 

After midnight on the third night, as the party on the porch of my tent was disbanding, I climbed safely atop my bed and armed two brave men with sticks. The generator had already gone off, so my goal was to identify the unwelcome guests with my trusty head lamp and their job was to bash. BASH!

Well, they tried. There was lots of high pitched shrieks (some of them from me), and we successfuly scared one out of the tent, but there were no brains on my floor and that irritated me. "We scared 'em good" they said, "they won't be bothering you anymore!".

I wish.

The guys left, feeling somewhat satisfied, and resumed their task in my neighbours tent, where guts were spilled. I’d like to think that they managed to get the one that they did because he was still too doped up on NyQuil to get away quick enough. That’ll teach you.

My rat came back, of course. And brought his entourage.

But two can play at that game, and I have friends too. Friends who, the very next day, made the 90 minute drive to the “big town” to buy rat poison.

I've since left the field, and although I have yet to confirm that the murderous rampage has ensued, I am promised that it will, in fact, ensue (once we figure out how to spare the hedgehogs that don’t appreciate me and the cats that are too lazy to eat my rats and the goats that knock over the garbage and… well, you get the point)

(Insert wicked laugh here)

You can’t mess with a girl’s sparkle and expect to get away with it. Consider yourself warned.

*My colleagues all call them rats, and although I’m pretty certain what I saw was a mouse, I’m going to use the term rat. More dramatic. Possibly accurate. Suits my purpose. Decision made.