Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Under the eaves.

The people, there are bats that live under the eaves of this dwelling.

This we have known for a long time. But sometimes we forget about it and then we are reminded.

Let us pause to consider the beneficial qualities of bats: they eat a hella lotta insects. That's good. [The historian notes: "I don't know that people understand the value of bats. That is, they eat their body weight in insects every day. Like spiders. They are our friends."] Also, they are nocturnal, so we don't have to contemplate their preternatural weirditude in the daylight. Thank you, bats!

Today, however, just as I had thrown up my hands at the last two incorrigible poems I was going to work on today, and had therefore turned my therapeutic attention to the second half of Road Dogs, by Elmore Leonard (quite good, thanks for asking!), I heard something slightly meow-ish or groan-y or what? it was the middle of the afternoon and it was an eerie animal sound. A tad bit eerie. And then, there was a certain scrabbling. Like little bat feet? somewhere in the vicinity of the eaves.
Me: There are bats. That live in the eaves.

Historian: I'll go fetch a ladder. And a flashlight.
Okay, that probably wasn't the conversation, but it was the result:
Historian: Yep, there are bats. Do you want to see them?

Me: (faints)
Okay, I didn't faint, but I did NOT want to see them. Even though in years past I have seen them taking flight at dusk (I believe I used that very poetic phrase in a poem many many years ago--"taking flight at dusk"), I did not want to climb the ladder in the middle of the hot afternoon and see the bats hanging out in the eave-ish region. No. I did not want to.

But I will say this: I found the sound just distracting and creepy enough that we decided we would go out to dinner:
Me: Is it cheating if we go out [note: by "go out," I meant "flee the scene of the scrabbling bat sounds"] and find someplace to get dinner?

Historian: No, it is not cheating.
So we went out and found a place to get dinner, and that's why I love the historian. The end.

P.S. we--and by "we," I mean "the historian"--saw the bats taking flight at dusk. Yes: "taking flight at dusk." The poesy of it all, ugh.


  1. OK. This is my nightmare. Have I ever told you the story of the Grand Rapids bats. They were in our house. At one point, one flew at my head.
    We might have bats in our eaves. How can I know? How can I avoid them? Yes, I tell myself, they are good. Good mosquito eating good beings but my grandpa got bit by one once and had to get rabies shots so I fear them.
    Word Verif? Recur. Have I told this story before? I am becoming redundant aren't I?
    I will look for updates on the bat scenario.

  2. Yes love bats.
    Yes don't want them in my house.
    Nice story.

  3. Weirditude. You are in fine, fine form.

  4. I was told in one of my master gardener classes that spiders don't come into houses unless there is food, aka, bugs. Likely the same with the bats. So which is creepier? Bats and spiders in the house or bugs for them to eat? GAAAA. Either way. Creepy. You are so brave to stay in the wild.



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