This posting originally was going to be about small, plague-spreading vermin that inhabit the area around a historic landmark next to our apartment. But, things took an unexpected, fatal turn.
First, some background. The stone house is called Drottning Kristinas Jaktslott which translates as Queen Christina's Hunting Lodge. It is one of the oldest buildings in Goteborg dating back to the 1600s when it occasionally was used as....the hunting lodge for Queen Christina. The building is located on Otterhällegaten. Thus, we refer to it as the Otter House. Why? Why not. The Otter House is a tourist stop. Though, quite honestly, there is very little interesting or unique about it except for its age. It has been renovated with modern windows and skylights. The house is rented out for special occasions. In fact, the British Club of Gothenburg holds a pub night there once a month with some members dressed in full Brit regalia.
In the back of the house (as shown in the picture) is a small grassy area shaded by a large tree. Some plants and flowers cover the periphery. A large rock outcropping anchors the edge of the backyard. This is the closest bit of grass in a sea of pavement so it was only natural that we would take the dogs to do their business there (and clean it up, of course). As did many other dog owners. A month or so ago, as the weather grew appreciably warmer, I noticed some scurrying activity late at night as we entered the area. Then, one evening, I saw the source. A rat! Welcome to life in the city. Since that night, rat sightings have become a common occurrence - even during the day. They run in the streets, all over and into the rock outcropping, and around other areas near the Otter House. That rock outcropping is like one giant rat mountain.
So. The murder. Committed by me. An unintentional accident. Resulting in death, nonetheless. Last Friday, TJ and I had been out and about. We got home late. The girls still needed to be taken out. As we walked into the yard, a rat ran across the patio toward the house. I hurriedly stepped onto to grass away from the rat. And, as I did, the ground squirmed under my left foot. I had stepped on another rat. I moved aside to see. But, Zoey wanted to investigate so I quickly pulled both dogs away. The rat tried to run for the safety of the ground cover. But, it could no longer run. The girls did their business. We passed by the rat. In the same place. Moving its feet. Haltingly. I went upstairs feeling queasy. I didn't know what to do except (hopefully) let nature takes its course. Most unnatural.
The next morning, bright and early, a catering company was at the Otter House. I checked late morning and the rat was gone. Did it crawl to the bushes for its impending death? Or was it removed having already succumbed? I'll never know. But, the bottom line is that I killed a rat. And I felt awful. Later that day, we headed North to the coast. I was driving. I saw something ahead on the highway. I avoided the object; it turned out to be a duck. Just sitting in the road. Probably injured. There was no way to stop. To help. At some point, someone else was not going to swerve for that duck. Ugh. What a dreadful feeling.
So, how do I lighten up this post. Not too many ways that I can. Except maybe this. When we returned home there was a party going on at the Otter House. Parents and children. Most were in the back yard. Sitting on the grass. The grass where the rat had died. The grass encrusted with dog fecal-matter. Some were climbing over the rock outcropping. Poking around the opening to the rat-infested lair. Maybe the rats will have the last laugh. A plague on the Otter House. It's only a matter of time.
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