Ok, so where we last left off the battlefield was slathered in peanut butter and high hopes of victory. And indeed the first time Jason put out the peanut butter, he was rewarded with an instant victory – new rat next day. Or maybe a fat mouse.
We are properly respectful of the rat corpse and its next of kin, and not showing it here, thank you very much.
And so he tried again the next day, but found evidence of new digging… and an untouched peanut butter trap?! Had the rat martyred itself and with its dying breath, notified the others? Or was it something about the traps Jason was setting?
Jason had bought a plethora of traps. For all different size of rodent soldiers.
He speculated that we’d caught the biggest first, because it was bigger traps he set out first, so he went down to the smaller size, again with JIF peanut butter, that warrior substance of many a Texas public school lunch.
Smaller mouse, this time. Perhaps he was on to something.
We are properly respectful of the mouse corpse and its relatives, and also not showing that here.
And then… the traps stopped catching anything. Regardless of size.
Worse, it became trench warfare.
When I say trench war, I mean… there’s a trench not wrought by human hands here! And mostly dug out in a night or two!
Jason tamped earth into the above trench, and pondered his options as Supreme Chicken Commander. The issue continues to be one of PsyOps. If Jason is dilgent and takes the chicken food in every night, there is no evidence of rat… with or without traps being set.
But if food is in the coop the mice, as Kool Moe Dee once sang, Go to Work. Here’s the hole, before Jason filled it in. Perilously close to getting under the coop wood.