Jan Cleere

The other day I was admiring the desert vista around my Tucson home, watching
hummingbirds flit through the backyard, mother and baby cottontail stopping by for a
quick snack, a comma-topped quail and desert squirrel sparring for space atop my fence
and a furry brown pack rat scurrying across the yard.

While I knew pack rats inhabited the wash surrounding my house, I was also aware these
pesky critters would bring more dangerous predators into my territory and must be
eliminated.

The pack rat, or wood rat, is the teddy bear of rodents weighing about one pound and
rarely growing over 20 inches long including fuzzy tail. Snowy feet blend into a white
underbelly with soft brownish-gray fur along its back. Oversized ears and dark cocker-
spaniel eyes could melt snow off Mt. Lemmon.

A love of shiny objects compels the pack rat to leave behind a less desirable item when it
spots something more to its liking.

The pack rat nest, or midden, is comprised of branches, twigs, cactus joints and
whatever else is lying around (a little like my own house). Some are as large as four feet
in diameter with underground interlinking chambers.

Paleontologists love to explore ancient middens as their contents can date back
thousands of years and contain bundles of trinkets from past civilizations. But these
tunnels also cause gardens to collapse into a jumble of uprooted plants

The fur of the pack rat is home to an rather dangerous critter – the amorous kissing
bug. This black, one-inch long Dracula-like insect flies at night and loves the soft skin
around human lips, planting a big smacker while draining off a tasty supper. Kissing
bugs cause reactions in humans ranging from nausea and high fever to delirium.

Once bitten, humans should avoid additional trysts with these loveable bugs as
susceptibility to even more dangerous symptoms heightens with every bite.

Rattlesnakes also fancy pack rats albeit as a snack rather than convivial hosts.

Humans are the interlopers in the desert and we should be gracious to the natural
inhabitants and their habits, but my tolerance stops at rattler visits.

Therefore, this chubby rodent scurrying across my backyard must go.

Homeowners can purchase their own traps and humanely remove pack rats, but I
preferred to pay an expert any amount of money to handle my pesky predator.

After a frantic call to a local pest control company, a service man appeared and
inspected for signs of pack rat invasion. Sure enough, a rather large nest lay hidden
behind my overgrown prickly pear garden. He set a trap with peanut butter (a favorite
pack rat treat) and we waited.

Two days later, a rather large rat, not at all cuddly, appeared in the cage. My trusty
service man took it away to an unknown destination. Since pack rat nests are prime real
estate in rodent communities and a homeless pack rat will immediately move into an
empty midden, the nest must be destroyed.

Removing a pack rat nest is no easy feat, but within two hours, the nest and a good
portion of my cactus garden were gone. We found three rattlesnake skins inside the
nest. Whether the snakes had wandered by looking for a tasty snack and shed their
skins, or the pack rat had collected the used dermis for a decorative touch, I’ll never
know.

I once again took my coffee cup outside and waited for more charming critters to
entertain me.

But my enjoyment was short lived. Soon another pack rat was roaming my yard having
built its nest behind an even larger prickly pear. Along with a daily diet of seeds, yucca
pods, bark and berries, pack rats love prickly pear fruit, and my plants produced an
overwhelming harvest this year.

I made the call to my friendly service man, put some of his favorite soda on ice and
dabbed peanut butter behind my ears.

The trap was again baited. The next morning I found a frightened squirrel, full of peanut
butter, impatient to be released from the trap. Rats, no rat today.

Seems like squirrels have a fondness for peanut butter also, for when my service man
arrived the following day, he again released the aggravated squirrel from the trap. He
decided to dig up the nest anyway hoping to discourage its owner from returning.

The next few weeks I scanned the landscape diligently for signs my unwelcome
neighbors had returned.

So far, it’s just me, the quail, the rabbits and that crazy squirrel looking for more peanut
butter.