I've had some weirdness with rats lately, but this one took the cake.

I was cruising my way towards Gato's to hunt hogs last Friday and as I was thinking of my upcoming meals, which I often do, I realized I had nothing for Saturday lunch. As I cruised through Paris on the way to Detroit, I pulled into the drive-thru at Scholl Bros. Bar-B-Que. I ordered 1/2 lb. of brisket and a 1/2 lb. of sausage. They handed it to me in a hard plastic latch-lid container in a plastic bag. I placed it in the flood board on the passenger's side and just soaked in the smell of that meaty goodness for the rest of the run.

I met-up with Gato and we left my SUV and cruised around in his truck looking for hogs. (I didn't mention the Q I had hidden, for obvious reasons.) No hogs showed, and the lone coyote that stood outside the driver's side window at about 17' 3 1/2" from the truck got a free pass. (I was not driving.)

Ended-up back at the hay barn, what I call home, and set up camp. I then sat in a raised stand, 120 yards from a feeder that evening and got overrun with hogs. A little hard to explain what happened next. The head of a full grown hog that was in my crosshairs became the ass-end of a half grown other hog when the gun went off.

Gato and I spent way too much time skinning and quartering that poor unlucky porker by headlight, but we got the job done, had dinner (shrimp boiled in butter), and called it a night.

I moved that box of Q back to the cargo area of the SUV (doors locked, windows up) and dove to the bottom of my sleeping bag before the mosquitoes ate me alive.

Next day I find a corner eaten-out of the plastic container big enough to put my fist through and a 1/2 pound of brisket and 1/2 lb. of sausage is scattered from one end of the SUV to the other, under all the seats. I dig all the meat out I could find and throw it on the ground. No lunch for ole Dad. The bastard rat got it.

Sunday morning after enduring one hell of a thunderstorm during the night, I start packing my gear to drive home. In the front floorboard, passenger side, is a chewed-up roll of paper towels. I'm assuming in eating my brisket and sausage, the bastard rat got messy and wiped his mouth and other parts that second night on my paper towels.

I'm in a foul mood but I start driving the 140 miles home. Back in Paris I get gas and suddenly realize part of my dashboard display has gone black. I figure the bastard rat has struck again. Thirty minutes later after punching every button I've got on the dash, the panel comes alive.

I get home and keep the SUV out of the garage that night to keep said-rat from moving into my house with me. The next morning I start pulling everything out to try to locate Gato's rat. (Gato was saying I brought that rat with me to his ranch. I'm saying it was his rat that slipped into my SUV, without my knowledge,and stole my Q.)

I thought for sure I would find evidence of him by the spare tire.....Nothing! I then popped the hood and found where that little bastard had begun building a nest against the firewall. He also had a small cache of food beside my SUV's battery.

I haven't laid my eyes on Gato's rat, but I was telling my friends the story and one of them said they were traveling up 75 and passed a rat hitchhiking, holding a piece of cardboard that said "Avery, Texas - will pay for gas". Now if that isn't clear evidence of Gato's rat trying to get back home, I don't know what is.

The above is the God awful truth. My hand is on a Bible, and if I'm lyin', I'm dyin'.

What a load of rat shit.

That rat was and is a resident of Kensco's neighborhood where I am sure his rat brothers are plotting a home invasion.

I think Kensco is paying for some past indiscretions with his rat/albatross. He will rue the day he accused my country rats of getting into his car. They have more taste, especially since he ordered some poor Q. They know better.

"I'm lying, I'm dyin'"......I hope you hold off for a while, I hate funerals, even for people who deserve them.

I hate when that happens.

More likely to a dam red squirrel in these parts.

On a serious side for a moment, when I lived in WV, mice were bad about slipping into my car. Especially this time of year. I kept a tupperware bowl with a snap lid full of De Con in the car. At night, I take the lid off the bowl and sit it in the floor boards of the car. In the morning, I close it up and tuck it away. It worked.

I'll try that if I find any more evidence.

I suspect Gato's rat headed home. The last sighting was in Bonham. He was seen boarding a Greyhound bus headed back to Avery. I don't think he found city life to his liking.

So that explains that strange rat with the signs, "HOMELESS" and "will work for Ken's Barbecue", that was parading outside my gate yesterday. Being the big hearted guy that I am, I drew him a map heading West. I hope he makes it. Ken needs two friends.

True story here. When I was a kid mom would not tolerate a gun in the house because some cousin or other shot him self while hunting.(I'll save the drama as most have had equal experiences in their life).My 1st hands on was a little 22 on aunt Bernice's ranch.A lot of family was there + she commented that a rat was sleeping in her motor in the barn.Uncle Warner knew that rats always follow the same passage so he told Bernice to start the engine;the rat came up a side post + when he went horizontal Warner nailed his ass.He took me out that afternoon + introduced me to shooting.What a boon. I've never looked back. Just as an aside,the 1st time I felt that rifle in my hands I understood it completely,if that makes any sense.I had the feeling that I had been born with it.It is hard to explain,but I felt HOME.