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It happened on Highway 18 at 50 mph. I was driving along when a wasp suddenly flew from a hiding place onto the inside front windshield. I knew the stinging insect wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t bother her, so I calmly rolled down my window and let her fly to freedom.

Thinking over what had just happened, I realized that my job has given me superpowers of sorts. And that’s not the only superpower we pest professionals are armed with. Here’s more:

>>I can don a bulky bee suit, climb a ladder, and exterminate a wasp nest twenty feet above ground. (Yet, I’m still afraid of riding on ski lifts.)

>>I can fearlessly squirm through crawl spaces teeming with black widows and snakes. (Where’s my “medal of courage” like the Cowardly Lion got?)

>>I can look at deck joists and know, just from the pattern of cracks, if there is dry rot hidden inside. (“Oh, wow, that’s fascinating!” says absolutely no one.)

>>I can see an adorable flying squirrel without once breaking professional concentration by exclaiming, “Ahh, it’s so cute!” (“How is that even a superpower?” asks anyone with posters of unicorns all over their bedroom walls.)

>>I can get sprayed by a skunk and keep on working like nothing happened. (Try to control your libidos, ladies.)

>>I can pick up a wolf spider with my bare hands and escort it outside. (There goes those libidos.)

>>I can put a stepladder next to a jam-packed bedroom closet, contort around the big Christmas decorations box on the shelf, then pull myself up into the attic… all without breaking a single figurine. (Full disclosure: My dream was to be a performer in Cirque du Soleil but I couldn’t cut the mustard.) 

So, when you need a modern superhero, give us Home Defenders a call. Just don’t call me to change a diaper—now that’s terrifying!

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“Those darn mice.” I thought. “Don’t they ever give up?”

I was one frustrated pest professional last week, checking mouse traps in a dark crawlspace. I had squeezed through the little plywood entry door and, sure enough, once again, there were more mice in my traps. I had been catching them for a week, but that’s no surprise, since mice are unrelenting when they target a mountain home. I set more traps and crawled back into to the summer sunshine. 

When I returned to my office, a question popped into my head: Why do mice, with their tiny brains, present such a challenge to us pest professionals? Well, there’s many reasons, but let’s focus on one.

Whenever I see a mouse the first thing I notice is how healthy and just plain beautiful it looks. Its fur is perfect—no touch of white hair around the muzzle, no receding hairline. Mice breed quickly and die young, so they are always in the prime of life, speeding through their days with the timeless energy of youth. Chasing mice out of a home is like playing tag with a bunch of teenage boys buzzed on Red Bull… with their survival on the line.

If you see signs of mice in your home, like little black droppings, or hear tell-tale scratching sounds, call us Home Defenders today and we’ll chase them out with the timeless energy of professional expertise. Then we’ll find their entry holes and seal them as tight as a bank vault on Sunday. Guaranteed!

Yes, we long-lived humans will continue inventing new traps and gadgets to control mice, but those little beasts will stay forever young and beautiful.

Lucky bastards!

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 I was standing at the door of a vacation cabin, taking the heat.

“Mike, your worker should have seen those mouse droppings on my bed and called me!” my customer said, his face red with anger. “My wife took one look at that poop and yelled, ‘We’re heading back home now, Bob!’ I practically had to get down on my hands and knees and beg her to stay.”

My crew had sealed the home against rodents three months ago; they came back monthly to check for new activity. Then the owners walked in and the you-know-what hit the fan. Had my techs missed that mouse poop? They might have, because vacation cabins are dark and even a skilled tech with a flashlight can miss a few droppings.

On the other hand, they might not have because every evening platoons of mice probe mountain cabins for entry holes. Even if they can’t find one, they’ll put their fuzzy noses to the grindstone and chew through seemingly impenetrable walls—those teeth are like drill bits. Weeks later a home can explode with mice.

I didn’t bother trying to explain all that to my customer. Rodent control isn’t a murder investigation where timelines and theories are important. Rodent control is the art of dealing with the reality in front of your eyes. And the reality was that determined mice—some way, somehow—had slipped through our first line of defense. But they don’t beat us a second time.

I apologized to my customer and scheduled my crew to get the critters out ASAP. He had our Home Defenders guarantee and that’s all that mattered.

Keeping the wife happy was the reality in front of my eyes.

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“Help Mike, it’s crawling up the screen. Quick, come get it!” My secretary Erika was eyeballing something scary and calling me for help.

I ran into the main office and spotted the creature in question. It was climbing our screen door in broad daylight—at a pest control business of all places. Wow. You just don’t see that. Bold little cuss, wasn’t it?

Oh, that’s right, you’re still waiting to hear what the bloodthirsty predator was. Sorry, well, it was… wait a second, I’m about to sneeze… that summer pollen is driving me crazy… hold on… nope, false alarm. The critter in question was a mouse.

Here I go again. I’m writing about mice again. But I can’t help myself because it’s summer and mice are breeding like Mississippi River mosquitoes. When those furry marauders breach your private island, call us without delay. At Home Defenders, we have proven solutions to mouse pollutions.

I bolted outside my office and the rogue mouse ran straight up a stucco wall, stopped in a corner, and hung there like Mother Nature’s very own Spiderman. In over thirty years of pest management, I’ve never seen a mouse do that. I quickly did what any self-respecting pest professional would do: I whipped out my phone and filmed the scene. Then I shooed the critter away. He belongs outside and he’ll stay outside because our office is fortified against rodent entry.

I strode back inside expecting a heroes’ welcome, but Erika and the other secretaries were absorbed in paperwork and had forgotten the whole incident. Oh well, we mice-shooing superheroes don’t really expect thanks; we’re just happy to have saved the day.

Hold on! Is that a big, hairy spider on the venetian blind, poised to attack? Stand clear, ladies, I’ll battle the beast! 

Oh, wait… it’s just a harmless piece of fuzzy lint.

Darn.

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“Wow, look at that,” I’m thinking. “I can’t wait to write about this.”

I’m hiking on a forest trail and I’m seeing a commonplace sight: bear, coyote, and raccoon prints. So why is that worth writing about? Because I made this short trail a month ago and these paw prints mean that wild animals—trail-hiking royalty—have given my dirt path their blessing. Thank you kindly, your furry majesties.

Speaking of animals, I’ll never forget a raccoon job I tackled a few years back, where a mother raccoon was raising her young under a vacation home bathtub. She had removed some exterior wood shingle siding to get into that protected space. Happily, the homeowner agreed to wait until the young were grown before I chased the family out. All ended well for all involved.

I was amazed at the mother raccoon’s skill. If she had removed shingles just a few inches to the left or right she would have hit a wall stud to frustration. But she hit a hidden bullseye on her first try. How? Maybe she smelled the moisture in the void, or maybe she used her sensitive whiskers to feel a draft flowing out the wood shingles. Who knows. But it’s yet another reason to admire our forest animals.

If you suspect wild animals are living in your home, call us today for a free evaluation and we’ll get them out in a humane way—that’s the only way we Home Defenders get the job done.

Finally, I don’t just make hiking paths, I also made this article, this “word path” and I would like to thank you, royal reader, for following it to the end—for giving it your kindly blessing. 

Now if you could just yank some shingles and have your young under a bathtub I’d really be impressed!