Mar 7, 2016 3 min read

We have all seen a horror movie or two. You know the ones: There is some type of evil running around, and the main characters all try to hide from it in the least-safe place available.

It’s that movie where they hide in the basement, or the cemetery, or the barn filled with sharpened implements of death. And they continue to make poor choice after poor choice until there are only one or two people left who are always looking surprised the thing chasing them was able to discover their secret spot.

I hate these movies because I hate to be scared.

However, after last weekend, I have come to realize, were I cast in one of those movies, I would undoubtedly be one of the fools suggesting the best place to hide is near the wall of meat cleavers, or that getting in the car to drive away is foolish, or that our safest course of action is to take a nap out in the middle of the field where the others were killed.

I know this because I made a similarly poor decision last weekend.

I went out to my chicken coop to gather eggs. I do this four or five times a day. My hens have come to expect a treat each time; some bits of leftover veggies from the fridge, a handful of dehydrated mealworms, or even a few blades of freshly picked grass do quite nicely.

And my attentiveness has paid off, as their egg production has increased quite a bit.

With all of my daily trips out there, it was with some surprise I saw the insulation in the ceiling was pushed down in a spot, leaving a shower of pink bits on the inner door and a “puddle” on the floor below. I knew there had to be a rat or two infiltrating the girls’ sanctuary.

Even knowing the hole was caused by a rat, I walked underneath it to enter the coop to feed. (Were this an actual horror flick, the suspenseful music would have begun in the background.)

When nothing happened, I admit, I got a little cocky. I walked in and out a few more times, bringing fresh water and unwrapping a suet cake for them to peck at.

When I went to leave, however, the door wouldn’t close because of the bulge in the insulation. (Intensify suspenseful music.) Slowly, I reached my hand up to the ceiling. (Zoom camera one, please! Tighten in until you see only her hand and the hole. Crank music up to heart-pounding force!)

And as I should have known, as soon as my hand came into contact with the ceiling, the evil sprang forth – this time in the form of a rat – landing on my hand before leaping again to a nearby shelf and then down to the floor and escaping. I screamed worthy of a horror movie.

For a few seconds after the rat disappeared, I was still screaming.

Then in the silence that followed, I reached up and finished tucking the insulation back into the hole. (I know, the horror movie girl would have died for certain the second time.)

Then I gathered my eggs and marched back to the house.

That’s a wrap, folks.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.