So this is the story I decided to restart the blog with.
I was just in the kitchen, putting away clean dishes with Bentley (also known as The Benster, Bents, Little Squirrel, Little Rooster, and Little Pooper), and it was so nice outside that I decided to open up the top half of our kitchen door. Bentley was relaxing in his bed, probably gnawing on his steer pizzle (look it up), when he suddenly started making a ruckus by the door. I glanced over, and he was valiently pouncing on what looked like a small bird. I shreaked a little, and poor Joel, who is laid up with a bad back, game limping into the room. After a second glance, I realized it wasn’t a bird, but a huge moth, maybe a good 6-inches across, and it was desperately trying to escape Bentley’s paw swipes and puppy bites. At first it almost looked like he was trying to play, but within a few minutes Bentley had himself a mid-morning snack. Mighty hunter, indeed.
Speaking of woodland creatures in our kitchen, about a week and a half ago, the day before we moved all our furniture and worldly possessions back to the house, we were awoken at about 6am by Bentley. Between the trip to Seattle, the moving around, and meeting Nikki, his nerves were a little shot, and he’d been having a lot of puppy diarrhea. It was my turn to take him out, so I rolled out of bed, walked him outside, and came back into our room. I was immediately hit by a familiar aroma, and I suddenly remembered that around 4am Bentley had been going crazy in his crate and we had both ignored him. I checked inside, and sure enough, the poor guy had gotten sick in the early morning hours. I plopped Bentley on the bed with Joel and took the crate outside, figuring that 6am was no time to be cleaning up poop. On the way back to our room I threw the towel we use to line Bentley’s crate in the wash with some bedding (yes, this is probably disgusting, but I didn’t have any other pooped soaked towels to wash it with). Back in bed, Bentley was still going nuts, desperately trying to jump off. After trying in vain to discipline him, we let him down, and he promptly pooped by the TV. At this point Joel and I were both wide awake, so I took Bentley outside while Joel cleaned up the mess. I decided to start cleaning Bentley’s crate, and after a few minutes both Joel and Nikki joined me outside. I gave Joel Bentley’s leash and went back inside to get some paper towels, and I hear the washer trying to bang its way out of the house. I reset the load, hoping I got to it before it woke up my sister Jennifer, who was sleeping in the guest room next to the laundry. Mom, who was asleep in the living room, was also now awake and opened the from door in time for me to hear Joel shout, “Bentley pooped on the porch!” Awesome.
So the poop gets cleaned up, the washer only gets off-balance once or twice more, and we all finally end up back inside the house. Mom and I were sitting on the kitchen floor while Joel went back to our room to attempt to lower his heartrate. Bentley almost immediately fell asleep in my lap, and I realized he must have had a rough night. Mom and I started chatting about where we were going to store the myriad of pots and pans and other kitchen supplies I’d been collecting over the years, and Mom began opening cabinets and drawers. She mentioned storing the broiler in the oven, and she cracked it open to size it up. After 5 seconds she shut it with a gasp.
“You have a varmit in your oven,” she said.
Time on the clock on the stove read 7:30am. I could not believe this morning was happening.
“What is it?” I asked, steeling myself.
“I’m not sure,” Mom said. “It might have been nothing. It just looked furry.”
“Well, will you check?” I asked.
She opened the oven again, and shut it quickly.
“It’s a bat.”
I put Bentley on the floor, walked back to our bedroom, and found Joel.
“Joel,” I moaned, “there’s a bat in our oven.”
His eyes widened as though the bat were sitting on my head instead of in the oven.
“What?!” he said, and started to laugh.
I promptly started to cry.
“I know it’s funny,” I said in some laughing/crying/gasping voice that indicated hysteria. “I’m just so overwhelmed…”
“It’s okay,” he said, comforting me like one would a child. “We’ll take care of it.”
I went back to the kitchen and retook my spot on the floor with Bentley. Joel followed a few minutes later with his work gloves, and while Mom opened the oven Joel scooped up the bat, which started to click wildly, and gently set it outside on a stump. To revisit this morning, see the video and picture below: