I got a ded WOOF RAT!

“Warnin! This is a verry graftic story! Skeerdy chikkens better not reed this in less yall want to throde up!

Do yall member that time that me and my daddy and my hubsand Gissmaeioux done a day hike at Sentrel Part? Well we seen menny nother dogs. One was named Dog Doggy Dog Dog. Member?

Any ways I sayed "yall got verry good tree rats at Sentrel Part" and Doggy Dog Doggy Dog Dog sayed "AH! You aint seen nothin til you seen ower woof rats! They are the shizzel minezzel!" He sayed "heer is the stinky wher one was walkin aroun" and I smelled the groun and it was verry stinky! Dog Dog Dog Doggy Dog Dog sayed if he seen that stinky woof rat that he wold "bust a bite in his asazzel". I was sad that we did not see no woof rat tho.

Well gess what! I seen one the nother day!

We was all at werk and I was doin my skurity werk like useuel. I was chekkin for rats and what never by side the lumder pile and smelled a verry stinky. I membered the stinky that Dog Doggy Dog Doggy Dog Dog lernd me. I know'd it was a WOOF RAT!

My daddy was in side werkin and Gissmaeioux was spectin the werk. I sayed "EVER BUDDY COME OUT SIDE BY SIDE THE LUMDER PILE CUZ THER IS A SKURITY MERGENCY!" and ever buddy did and was by side the lumder pile to.

I sayed for Gissmaeioux to get on the nother side of the lumder and I sayed for my daddy to pik up them bords. When my daddy pikked up them bords ther was somethin ther.

Kno what? IT WAS A BIG STINKY WOOF RAT!
The woof rat was gonna run the nother way but Gissmaeioux sayed "Ah ah! If you rund over heer you wold be verry ded in my mouf!" and he did not run over ther.

Then the woof rat sayed "I gess I will ressel you then" and I sayed "I will bust a bite in yer [cussuzzel]" and the woof rat ATTACT me! He hopped verry good on my hed and skrached of my eyballs a little bit but it did not hert verry much and I was bleedy. He done some bites and more scrachys in til I done a VERRY GOOD bite and he was jest a ded woof rat.

It was the eppik baddel. The woof rat was brave and got ded with onner. We done a spectabel berryel in a good grabe by side the barn. I vissit the grabe ever day.”

“LOL!

Way to go sarabelle!! You OK?

(and just what is woof rat?!??)”

“What is a woof rat indeed?”

“Sarabelle - woof rat exterminator!”

“Attagirl! :)”

“Sarabelle, I bet that hurt!”

“I gess his daddy was a woof and his mama was a rat? He was verry big! (not like the rats we usely get in a hous or trale shelders).”

“Yes. It hert verry much but I did not cry cuz I am a BIG GERL!”

“Wharf rat.
Mickey on roids, if you will.”

“I thought it was a ROOF rat... and was confused. :-)

Thanks for the 'splanation.”

“Thanks. I was thinking groundhog.

Well, woof rats sound very close to sewer rats. Wicked bad critters for sure. Take care of Belle. Those wounds could get infected.”

“A groun'dog??”

“Epic battle with a woof rat!

That'll lern 'em to not hide in your lumber pile :)”

“Was it a Roof Rat or a Norway?”

“Sarabelle, since you are so good at sniffin' out rats, you might could get a job with Homeland Security! And keep us all safe!”

“Good job, Sarabelle! You keep protecting your daddy from those nasty woof rats!”

“Nice to hear from you Sarabelle :-) Hope you and yer daddy are doin' okay”

“I laughed so hard I cried.”

“sarabelle, always the Hero!”

“LOL Great story, Sarabelle!”

“sarabelle's Daddy needs to let her get on the computer more offen.

Bad gojo, Bad! ;-)”

“Good girl, Sarabelle! You deserve a tasty treat!!

Bacon!! I smell BACON!!!!! Bacon, bacon, bacon!!!!!!!!!!!”

“In the dition to my regler pay I got a extra treet that is a bonis - I got ICE CREEM! ummmmmm!

Gissmaeioux got the bonis to cuz he was verry good bakkup (he got to kerry the ded rat aroun some to in his mouf).

I been smellin roun the lumder pile and the nother piles to but I did not smell no more woof rats. I gess ther aint no more )o:3

Ther is plenny of tree rats tho and they keep me verry bissy!
(o:3”

“Good for you, Sarabelle! Keep on hunting!”

“Good Dog!!!!”

“I have not hiked with Sarabelle in a long time.
I sure do miss her.”

“

To any woof rats and any misbehavin' nakid TT'ers
last edited: 8/09/05 4:28:52 PM”

“I loved this so much I felt the most I could do was to offer some small contribution. I converted this back to English (normalized the text) and then pumped it through a Jive language filter on a Linux server. Here is the output, mostly unedited for your pleasure. Salute sarabelle!

Warnin'! Dis be some real graphic story. Right On! Chicken schitz betta' not reed dis unless ya' wants t' throw up. Right On!

Do ya' all rememba' dat time dat me and mah daddy and mah husband Gissmaeioux done some day hike at Central Park? Well we saw many otha' dogs. One wuz named Dog Doggy Dog Dog. What it is, Mama! Rememba'?

Any ways Ah said, "You all gots some real baaaad tree rats at Central Park" and Doggy Dog Doggy Dog Dog said, "AH. Right On! Ya' ain’t seen nothin' until ya' seen our woof rats. Right On! Dey be de shizzel minezzel!" He said, "Here be de stinky where one wuz walkin' around" and Ah smelled de damn ground and it wuz real stinky. Right On! Dog Dog Dog Doggy Dog Dog said if he seen dat stinky woof rat dat he would "bust some bite in his #&%!$". Ah wuz sad dat we dun did not see some woof rat dough.

What it is, Mama! Well guess whut! Ah saw one de damn otha' day. Right On!

We wuz all at work and Ah wuz doin' mah security work likes usual. What it is, Mama! Ah wuz checkin' fo' rats and whut neva' by side de damn lumba' pile and smelled some real stinky. Ya' know? Ah remembered de damn stinky dat Dog Doggy Dog Doggy Dog Dog showed me. Sheeeiit. Ah knowed it wuz some WOOF RAT. Right On!

Mah daddy wuz in side workin' and Gissmaeioux wuz inspectin' de work. What it is, Mama! Ah said, "Everybdy mosey on down outside by de lumba' pile a'cuz dere be some security emergency!" and eva' buddy dun did and wuz by side de damn lumba' pile t'.

Ah told Gissmaeioux t' git on de otha' side o' de lumba' and Ah told fo' mah daddy t' pick up some boards. When mah daddy picked up de boards dere wuz sump'n dere. Right On!

Know whut? IT WAS A BIG STINKY WOOF RAT. Right On!

De woof rat wuz goin' t' run de otha' way but Gissmaeioux said, "Ah ah. Right On! If ya' run ova' here ya' gots'ta be real wasted in mah mouth!" and he dun did not run ova' dere. Sheeeiit.

Den de woof rat said, "I guess Ah gots'ta wrestle ya' den" and Ah said "I gots'ta bust some bite in yo' [cussuzzel]" and de damn woof rat ATTACKED me. Right On! He hopped on mah haid and scratched o' mah eyeballs some little bit but it dun did not hurt real much and Ah wuz bleedin'. He bit me some more scratched until Ah bit some VERRY GOOD bite and he wuz some wasted woof rat.

It wuz de epic battle. Right On! De woof rat wuz brave and died wid hono'. We had some respectable burial in some baaaad grave by de barn. Ah visit de damn grave every day.
last edited: 9/21/05 12:21:00 PM”

“Lol!”

“LMAO!!!!!!!”

“somehow, I think sarabelle might like this. I hope she doesn't leave Gissmeaioux fo the schinizzle mo'fo here!”

“Dog Dog Dog Doggy Dog Dog said if he seen dat stinky woof rat dat he would "bust some bite in his #&%!$".

i luv it.”

“Tooooooooo funny...”

“hahahahahahahaha”

“hardy har har”

“I think Gizmo and Sarabelle both need to stay clear of these rats and stop smelling rat butts. The vet can give a dog that comes in contact with rats and things contamined by rats a lepto shot, but it has a lot of side effects, so it's best to keep the dogs away from rats.”

“they don't make a shot for what those two have .... ;)”

“Rats In Peace

We stood over the grave in respectful silence. Our brief service was the culmination of a months-long conflict. The opposing forces attacked and counterattacked. They assaulted and retreated. They ambushed and eluded. They fought nose to nose in close quarters, and charged head-on across the open field of battle. They braved the elements; standing vigil in the pouring rains of April and sweltering in the relentless suns of August. They cheated the Reaper day after day and lived to fight the next. Until one day - that fateful day - when one of the warriors fell bravely and honorably, and forever hallowed the ground upon which Sarabelle, Gizmeaux, and I now stood. The grave was covered with a small slab of black, lusterous marble. There was no a tombstone, but had there been one, it would have been inscribed:

By Twists Of Fate, They Met In Combat
One Was A Dog, Here Lies A Rat

A friend had just purchased property along Thomason Road, and needed help with several remodeling and renovation projects - so in stepped our crew. Besides myself, the crew consists of Gizmeaux, a 14 pound border terrier, and Sarabelle, a lean and leggy yellow Labrador retriever. Perhaps motley at first glance, the onlooker would soon realize that we are a well-oiled machine having a place for everyone, with everyone in their place. Gizmeaux, the Inspector, follows me around the jobsite eying every detail of my work. Though he can often be found in the nearby shade in a near-death state of sleep, he always manages to get dirtied or sawdusted or paint splattered in a manner suggesting his roll-up-the-sleeves work ethic. Sarabelle's domain is to insure our safety - she is First Security Officer, and by far our hardest working crew member. She can be found patrolling the periphery searching out such high risk threats as squirrels and lizards, or lying Sphynx-like under a shade tree; eyes keen, ears perked, and twitching snout held high. She can occasionally be seen stalking slower than slowly across a lawn with her nose pointing in the direction of an acorn-munching chipmunk, or a cardinal picking at the spoils below a bird feeder. I can honestly say that thanks to her dedication to duty, I have never suffered a pecked-out eye, or had a chameleon run up a leg of my utility jeans.

Nothing she had ever encountered had been a match for her cunning and skill - until now. Until he. Until Rat. Not a mouse, mind you - Sarabelle can go through mice like a kid through a bag of Skittles. We're talking Rat here - a large tawny-furred, talant toon'd, scaley tailed rat. One creature stands above the rest in terms of cunning and craftiness. It's not the coyote, it's not the snake, it's not the raven - it's the rat. Our travels throughout North America had included backpacking trips in the Northern Rockies, walks along the shores of the Great Lakes, and snowshoeing the mountain slopes of New Hampshire, yet she had never flushed a rat. She had rubbed whiskers with marmots, prairie dogs, and fox squirrels the size of, well, foxes - but she had never seen a rat. She had walked the streets and frolicked in the parks of Manhattan, Toronto, and Washington D.C., but she had never crossed paths with a rat.

Appearantly, the previous years of learning the whos and hows of nature's managerie was a way of training for the ultimate test of her skills. In the insuing war with Rat, she would rely on all the knowledge and skills she had acquired, for it was upon this foundation that she would build an arsenal like she had never known to exist - and use it to defeat this worthy foe. With patience and perserverence, she would get the best of Rat, or he would get the best of her. It came close to a draw.

Shortly after beginning the project, I noticed Sarabelle spending alot of her workday around the perimeter of a certain barn. She had made numerous digs - which I am always obliged to repair - so I assumed it was done in the pursuit of numerous mice and/or ground squirrels.

"Nope" said Tom's friend, Terry. He had been around since Tom bought the property. He had helped with the move, and had even begun some of the projects which I had come to complete.
"It's a rat - a gret big'un. I seen him several times. Can't be killed, neither - too smart, I reckon." Terry had obviously given up on the hunt, or more likely, gotten too busy to pursue it in earnest.

But Belle persisted. Near the barn was a flat, open trailer laden with old furniture, several doors, some cabinets removed from a vacant house, and various sundry items. All were covered tightly with a heavy-duty tarp. Though it seemed Rat had several homes away from home, this trailer was the location of his permanent residence. It was here that Sarabelle studied his habits and tendencies, and eventually formulated her strategy for ultimate success. She would spend entire days beneath the tarp - sometimes leaving her rump and wagging tail exposed, and sometimes burrowing completely out of sight. On one occassion, I could tell by the urgency of Belle's behavior that he was close - Rat was home. Gizmeaux and I joined the fray. I furled the tarp to expose a large chest of drawers with which Belle exhibited a keen interest. I slowly opened a drawer just enough to peer at what looked to be rat bedding. And in that bedding was what appeared to be a rat.
"Here he is!" I exclaimed - half excited, and half scared. Sure, I'll admit it. My first up-close and personal encounter with a rat - which must have weighed 20 pounds, by the way - was a bit more frightful than I expected it would be.
Whatever. I got the dogs' attention, and got my game on. Then, without thinking, I shoved hard against the piece of furniture with every fiber of my being. The drawered wooden frame toppled hard and struck the ground with a thunderous crash. The dogs were immediately atop and around the smelly remnants of the once cheap bedroom piece. Lying scattered among the rubble was the nest - but no rat. He had escaped, but how? I was puzzled, as were the dogs. Rat 1, Crew 0.

Later on, I could see signs that Rat was frequenting the interior of the barn. I had been building shelving and racks in order to enhance it's new role as a sort of warehouse. One night I rigged an elaborate series of lights in order to brighten the large space to a degree suitable for using firearms. I fashioned a crude blind, and behind it placed an easy chair. While I stood in the middle of the room with a trusty Daisy air rifle under my arm, and Sarabelle at my side, Rat stepped out. Right from where I would expect him to, and right out into the middle of the floor. He taunted us as we stood in frozen disbelief. He had obviously been watching as I set the trap, and showed himself before preparations had been finalized. By the time Belle and I regained our composure, he disappeared into the very crevice by which I had anticipated he would escape. By the time we got there he was long gone, leaving behind only a smelly trail which Sarabelle sniffed without cessation. But we were not finished with our fuzzy little foe.
With a single-syllabled "fweeet!" and a shouted "Gid-mo!" I summoned our lightweight backup, who had been lingering all the while just outside the barn doors. In ran Gizmeaux, who I immediately led to the hot trail. He scurried excitedly into the crevice and was soon out of sight. I could hear heavy snorts and scratching, but never a growl. After a couple minutes, all was quiet, then Gizmeaux reentered the barn from outside. He had trailed Rat through whatever maze was concealed behind the cabinetry, and continued on to the outside exit. But again, no rat. Rat 2, Crew 0.

It was a gorgeous late summer morning. The weather had gotten beyond the influences of Katrina, and we were once again enjoying the warmth of the sun and the cool of the gently passing breeze. After five months, the projects were nearly completed, and our days were numbered. I was finishing-up some sundeck repair on the rear of the house, and Sarabelle was still performing her daily patrols, including the barn and it's surroundings. I had recently moved a stack of lumber to an area near the barn and covered it with a tarp. It was this stack that drew Sarabelles attention as she passed nearby.

"He's here" she said with her stance.
"Right here - not more than one foot from my nose!" she continued as she lowered into a well braced crouch.

I had Gizmeaux position himself on the opposite side in order to block Rat's escape. I removed the bricks from the edges of the tarp and began to roll it back. I rolled it completely away, but Sarabelle held her pose. She was focused on the three boards that composed the layers on one side of the stack. As I removed the top board, Sarabelle flinched - but no rat. I removed the second, and again - no rat. Then, as I reached for the third and final board, Sarabelle knelt lower, placing her chin just above the two-by-six. I quickly snatched upward on the board, and Sarabelle just as quickly lunged forward. As the board cleared away, I saw Rat lying motionless - staring straight into the quickly closing jaws of his tyrannasaur. In the blink of an eye, Rat was dead.

"Yes!" I yelled.
"YES BAY-BEEEE!" as if we had just won the Super Bowl.
I ran around and jumped up and down punching the air with clinched fists.
"Yes, yes, yes!"

Sarabelle, too, priked and hopped around, proudly displaying the lifeless heap that was just moments before her most despised antagonist. Gizmeaux ran alongside her anticipating his turn at a taste. It was a glorious moment.

Within 10 minutes, Rat laid drenched in saliva and all but forgotten. Dogs do not seem to have much interest in things not alive. As I stood over him with a shovel, I couldn't help but admire him. As a rat, he was the perfect specimen - both in body and varmity soul. He was large and well proportioned. His coloration was aesthetically pleasing - not blotchy or spotted like a citified wharf rat, but the even, earthtone color of a wild animal, which he truely was. He defended the land of his ancestors with a dignity achievable by only the best of vermin. His lot in life was not of his choosing, but he did the best he could with the hand which fate had dealt him. To paraphrase the poet e.e. cummins, what did he ever do that we would not have done? Rather than flee after the arrival of Sarabelle, he chose to stand his ground, and paid the ultimate price for doing so. We should all be so courageous.

I had intended to bury his remains as I would a pail of fish heads, but I decided this was an occasion worthy of memorial. I selected an elevated spot beneath a large cedar tree, and dug a hole. I then searched among several pieces of one inch thick polished marble that were stacked in the back yard. I selected the black one for its size more than any other factor - it measures about five inches wide and a foot in length - but it is an attractive piece, nonetheless. I laid the rat in the hole, and covered it with tightly packed red dirt. I brought over a couple extra shovels-full in order to form an ovate dome, then tamped the marble tightly upon the top of the low mound.

So there we stood - Gizmeaux fidgeting like a kindergarten graduate - paying attention to seemingly nothing, Sarabelle paying attention to everything but the gravesite, I me paying final homage to one of nature's most remarkable creatures. I stop by the grave on every visit to Tom's. I chuckle at the notion of such a silly memorial, then mutter an audible, heartfelt "rest in peace, Rat".”

“OMG, you really need to write a book, dude. That was a fabulous read!

Can I share this with my 7th graders? I'll be teaching writing soon (only for 6 weeks, thank God!) but it would be great to have them listen to this. Fabulous, fabulous story!”

“At least send it to Reader's Digest.”

“I agree, its a gret piece. You should definitely try to get some of this in print. It would work as American humor or as a kids story.

Buts also Gojo, someone should have already said this, but "ifn ya do the AT, you gots ta keep a journal!"”

“...its a gret piece."

LOL!

RDA?
I mean RD, eh?

Sure Aim, read it to the little varmits. And thank you, btw.

Now -
back to work, you slackers!
hehehee...”

“I really want Sarabelle to keep a journal if they do the AT”

“LOL @ ChuckD

Me too!”

“Gojo, I read this to my kids today. Though some of the words in the story were too big for them (they're not the sharpest knives in the knife block) they enjoyed the suspense. I especially enjoyed reading it to them (5 times, mind you!) and got to use different voices, jump up and down, shout, and all that good stuff. They thought I was nuts today!

We talked about "show not tell" which they've studied. We picked out many of the descriptive phrases you use in telling the story. We also talked about the story being told from your point of view, and how the story might change if it was told from a differnet point of view. We especially enjoyed thinking about it from the rat's POV, and how the story would end with Sarabelle biting down on the rat!

I told them that Sarabelle posts on this site, and they begged me to bring something in that Sarabelle posted. I didn't realize this thread started with the same story, from her POV. So, I will share her side of the story on Monday (with an edit or two, I see one thing that would be inappropriate for school).

AFter talking about all of that, I am having them write short stories using words drawn from a hat. Hopefully they use as much "show not tell" as you did, and think of creative ways to tell the story.

Thanks again for sharing this with us. I'll let you know what the kids think about Sarabelle's story on MOnday!”

“Gojo and Sarabelle writing children's stories? The mind boggles.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Smiley Girl! My 1st grader is home sick today from school. So I just read the story to him. He giggled and laughed the whole time and wanted more. I had to read it to him a few times. He was especially thrilled to know that it was written by Sarabelle and that it was about dogs he has met.

THANKS, GOJO (and Sarabelle)!!”

“Joe, I read this story to Laurel a while ago too. She insists I have to draw pictures and make her a book of it.”

“Somebody did draw pictures of Sarabelle and the skeery woof bare, but I can't remember who or what thread it was on.”

“Are there pictures of Belle and her husband anywhere? Would be fun to show my kids that too.”