MUSKRAT RAMBLE or Mother and The Muskrat 1-15-18

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MUSKRAT RAMBLE or "Mother and The Muskrat"! 1-15-18

We had no electricity at the farm house.  We had Kerosene lamps and lanterns in the barn and a "magic lamp' called Aladdin that was equal to a 60 watt bulb!  It was kerosene too and had a mantle but you didn't pump it up.  Every room had its lamp and you did not carry them around lit, for fear of dropping one and burning the house.  We did have Radio.  It was a huge brown wooden cabinet as tall as me and a carry over from the depression. It had more 'bands' than Carter had liver pills, even short wave and ships at sea.  It used a spare battery and we would swap batteries with the old tractor so we would have fresh power inside at night.

We also had Victrola, a hand crank wind up phonograph that played old thick 78rpm records left over from bygone years.  One of them was a song from big band days called "The Muskrat Ramble"

Whenever I hear that title I remember the story of my Mother and the muskrat.

Now our farm was five miles back in the hills from the main road and the north eastern part was all wooded, but didn't matter our line bordered hundreds of acres of woodland above us.  We had made that pond in the south pasture that had formed my deserted island and where the ducks came every fall, so it was no surprise that we had collected squatters.  No they weren't beavers, they were Muskrats.  They looked exactly like rats except huge about 10 or 15 pounds each with a long naked hairless tail with triangular sides, "Like a rat-tail file" my stepfather remarked.  They were vegetarian and harmless and quite unafraid and try as he might, my dog Bingo could not get one to run, only waddle.  It would turn and sort of hiss and show big front incisors like Bucky-Beaver in the cartoons.  Bingo was bored, they wouldn't run or do anything like the ducks and he lost interest in them.

Later that winter Bingo attacked a porcupine, I suppose he thought it was one of their cousins, 'cept they had quills and not fur!  he painfully had to endure having quills pulled out with pliers one at a time. Poor thing, the porcupine swatted with his tail and embedded dozens of quills in the poor dog, luckily missing his eyes. Bingo was a 'fast learner' he never went near a porcupine again.

It was before spring, around the time of the 'January thaw' that proceeded sugaring season and we had gone down to the small store at the corners of the main road, and were returning as I did from school at about the same time of day 5:30 and almost dark.

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We got out of the sled at the porch and my mother was about to go in when this dark shape emerged from under the steps and hissed.  Well my mother.. did I mention she hated rats? .. well she came face to face with the biggest rat she had ever seen.  She let out a huge scream and dropped her sack and headed left around to the back door.  The muskrat equally frightened by this 'wild woman' fled to the right.. and you guessed it.. they met somewhere in the nether regions of the back porch and we heard my mother scream again...  Raaaaaaaaaat!

My stepfather chuckled and I could not resist laughing as she came back around again coat flapping and kerchief askew.  "Kill it!"  she screamed, "Kill the damn thing!  Don't just stand there".  She was even more upset than the time with the goats.  I ran to the shed and came back with a big milk can and laid it down and it looked just like a burrow and the muskrat dove in for cover and I slapped the lid on it.  "I said Kill it, not pamper it!" my mother said relieved but still irritated.

"He came out and his hole froze up and he cant get back in his house" my stepfather said seriously. "taint his fault,  We should keep him till it thaws".

So I converted a big rabbit hutch into a cage and we kept the muskrat the rest of that month till the spring thaw about 5 weeks later.  I sat it on a bench in a corner of the living room which had some heat from the wood stove and we watched him like people with aquariums watched fish.  Bingo would sit and watch him for hours, his eyes moving left and right like he was watching a tennis match.

Believe it or not, my mother mellowed a little toward the muskrat which we dubbed "Ratty"  and we fed him vegetable scraps and peelings from the kitchen.  He washed his food like a raccoon and sat and ate daintily with it held in very human or monkey like front hands.  "He's not that bad," said my mother reluctantly, "if only he didn't have that awful tail!".

He (I never really knew if it was a boy or girl rat).. but he tamed quickly and i could poke a piece of carrot through the wire and he would grab it with teeth and hands and munch like a rabbit.  I even was able to touch him a couple times without his wanting to bite. "You better watch them teeth!" my stepfather warned, "he could bite you bad!"

The thaw arrived in February and sap started running up the trees and we hauled out the buckets and things to collect sap to make maple syrup.

"It's time to let Ratty go," my stepfather said gently nodding.  "His hole will be open by now and his family waiting for him".  We carried the cage down to the edge of the pond now mostly thawed and opened the door of it.  I expected him to run out but he sat there.  "He don't wanna leave the "rat hotel" said my stepfather laughing, "he likes your 'room service". I poked a small stick through the cage and he just hopped around and kept dodging it.  Finally in desperation I lifted the cage one end and shook it till he came out the door on the bottom.  He sat there and blinked and looked disgruntled.

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"Go home Ratty!" I yelled and stomped my feet, and slowly and reluctantly he waddled to the edge of the water and went in and swimming like a beaver headed to the opposite side.  I saw muskrats around the pond after that, never afraid and sometimes we would find the garbage can overturned. "Raccoon?" I offered.  "More likely your Ratty back looking for 'take out" said my step father pointing down.. and there they were,  the distinctive 4 toed footprints with a wiggly line in the mud behind.. the dragging of a giant rat tail.  As long as we lived there we laid vegetable scraps and peelings on a board and we often saw where our muskrat friends came to visit.

"I hope they give me fair warning, next time", said my mother tongue in cheek.

© Copyright 2018 by Daniel Blankley. All rights reserved.

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