Adventures in Pest Management

Are You Fragile

Thu, 14 Dec 2023 18:44:44 GMT

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Are You Fragile?

“Crazy!” Huh?

I just spoke with one of my regular readers at the supermarket, and his words shocked me. “I read your crazy articles every week,” he said, grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire Cat. And that’s not the first time a reader has called my articles crazy.

What is going on? I write a serious column about household pest management. And I’m a classically trained writer, well-read in Chaucer, Lord Byron, and Shakespeare. Are some of my readers misinterpreting something? Missing something? Are my articles a mirror that reveals the cracks in their own fragile psyches? No, dear readers, none of my articles are crazy. If you don’t believe me, just ask my imaginary companion since childhood, a pet rat named Skeeter. Hey, Skeeter, do you think my articles are nutty?

“Negatory on that, good buddy.”

You see, he agrees with me! This is just your typical small-town pest advice column—nothing nutty going on here.

“10-4 on that. Breaker, breaker, there’s a smoky in the granny lane on the I-5 near the Grapevine.”

Uh, sorry folks, Skeeter is obsessed with trucker’s slang. Just ignore that. But what you shouldn’t ignore is Skeeter’s advice on which company you should call when pests become a problem. Take it away, Skeeter… come on, Skeeter, tell the people who to call when they need help with problem pests.

“If critters are putting a burr up your backside… then… roll on down to Bobby’s Big Rig Emporium and chrome shop, serving the tri-state area since 1952!”

Darn you, Skeeter!! For once in your cursed life, could you do what you're told and tell the people to call Home Defenders! Shape up, buster—or ship out! Uh, sorry about that outburst, folks. Skeeter just drives me nuts. Anyway, be sure and check back next week when I outline—in painstaking, sadistic detail—how to get rid of a problem rat.

“Negatory on that, good buddy. You’d go crazy without me.”

(Long sigh.) 10-4 on that, Skeeter… 10-4 on that, good buddy. Have a burr-up-your-backside free week, everybody!

Avoiding the Bull

Wed, 06 Dec 2023 23:50:03 GMT

Hey, reader, I have a question. How old were you when you felt you knew everything about life? Eight? Ten? Personally, I was a first-class know-it-all by the time I was twelve. Having crowned myself the earthly lord of time, space, and knowledge, I stopped listening to adults giving out warnings. Warnings did, however, sometimes squeeze through my thick skull, perhaps by divine intervention. God protects fools and babies.

I remember the sunny morning on our grandparents’ Illinois farm when my brother Dave and I told Grandpa we were heading to Bear Crick to hunt Indian artifacts. We would walk across the “north forty” cow pasture to get there. No big deal. We told Grandpa of our plan.

“Listen, boys,” he said with a grim stare. “I moved the bull into that pasture yesterday. Never turn your back on a bull—he’ll kill ya dead.”

Ten minutes later, we climbed the rusty barbed wire fence and jumped into the cow pasture. Walking toward Bear Crick, I kept my eyes locked on that black bull peacefully munching green Illinois grass. He was the most powerful animal I’d ever seen, and I had no doubt he could kill me dead. When it came to matters of life and death, Grandpa knew best.

Since I (usually) don’t like uninvited warnings, I avoid giving them out. When homeowners need help, one phone call brings my company to their rescue—no warnings given. But, once in a while, like Grandpa, I dish out a warning.

Listen, folks, never let branches touch your home. Ants live in trees, and branches are their gateways to the fertile pasture that is your kitchen. I’ve treated thousands of houses, and sometimes, the only way to eliminate ants—despite my arsenal of 21st-century products—is to grab my ladder, climb to the roof, and cut branches. If you can’t safely cut your branches, call a professional tree trimmer. The sooner, the better.

Lastly, if I come to your home and see branches touching your roof, well… I recommend you avoid cow pastures. Have a bull-free week, everyone!

A Ripping Mystery!

Wed, 29 Nov 2023 18:13:25 GMT

A Ripping Mystery!

Have I done it? Have I, Dr. John Watson, bested the great Sherlock Holmes? Can I now take my place alongside him, not as his storyteller, but as his colleague?

The facts are these: While on holiday visiting my cousin William in the mountain community of Big Bear Lake, California, we experienced a strange phenomenon. Every evening, as we returned from our daytime excursions, we found a live bird in the home, a jay of some sort. We secured the cabin daily, but the bird returned, which we released outside. This pattern repeated for a week.

I cabled the pertinent facts to Holmes in London and awaited his response. None came. Had an ordinary bird puzzled the man who outwitted the brilliant Dr. Moriarty? Receiving no aid from Holmes, I applied myself to the problem. First, I examined the cabin’s exterior, high and low, looking for clues. In Big Bear, mountain cabins are covered in wood siding, and woodpeckers make many holes, but I found none. On the verge of giving up, I glanced skyward. Eureka!

Upon returning to London, I rushed to 221B Baker Street. Holmes sat in his settee, smoking his favorite cherrywood pipe, casually blowing smoke rings to the ceiling. I hastened to speak, but he spoke first.

“The metal screen at the top of the chimney, called a spark arrestor, was faulty or missing entirely. The feathered intruder tried to build a nest on the chimney ledge and, in its labours, fell down the flue, landing inside the cabin. I trust your cousin had the spark arrestor repaired.”

“But Holmes, why didn’t you telegraph me with the answer?”

“And deny you a splendid mystery to solve while on holiday!”

Thus, my dream of working as an equal partner to Sherlock Holmes came to a sudden and humbling end. I must remain content to pen his adventures for all the world to read. No, readers, I, John Watson, am no Sherlock Holmes. However, upon reflection…

I would love to see Holmes take the bits and pieces of human folly and weave them into a ripping detective yarn!

Revenge of the Beer Drinkers

Wed, 22 Nov 2023 17:23:13 GMT

Revenge of the Beer Drinkers

What is the most misunderstood critter on the mountain? Putting the question another way, what insect do homeowners most often misidentify? Here is my answer: yellowjackets. Let’s clear up this mystery.

Many people think yellowjackets are bees, but they are not bees. Yellowjackets are wasps. What is the difference?

Bees (European honeybees) sport a light coat of downy hair and are bred to pollinate. According to the USDA, 75 percent of fruits, vegetables, and nuts in the United States are pollinated by bees. Honeybees can only sting one time because their stinger is barbed, and bees cannot remove it without pulling out their guts. How did European honeybees migrate to the Americas? The Virginia Company of London sent the first honeybees to America in 1622. The bees that nest in our wall voids are descendants of those rugged world travelers.

By contrast, most American yellowjacket species were born in the U.S.A. Yellowjackets sport a spartan buzz cut and feed on caterpillars, harmful flies, and other pests that damage plants. They also feed on the carcasses of dead animals and rotting fruit. Unfortunately, they love beer and barbecue, as many Fourth of July revelers discover the hard way. Unlike bees, yellowjackets can sting multiple times. But why do they keep stinging over and over? Why not sting once, make their point, then fly away? An insect scientist (entomologist) might say, “Vespula pensylvanica repeatedly injects a pain-inducing, enzyme-rich venom as a mechanism of self-defense.” That sounds valid but somehow doesn’t answer the question. I’m no scientist, but enraged yellowjackets have stung me dozens of times, and I say they sting repeatedly because they’re vindictive little bastards. They torment humans simply because they can.

Now, the good news. The first winter cold snap will kill off yellowjacket workers, leaving only the queens to hibernate the winter away. So when the snow starts flying, fire up your barbecue, guzzle some ice-cold beer, and enjoy the great outdoors 100% wasp-free. (Deck heaters are available at most hardware stores.) Have a torment-free week, everyone!

The Pain-a-Thon

Thu, 16 Nov 2023 16:33:05 GMT

The Pain-a-Thon

Brain scientists say the human brain is wired to love stories. They say that hearing a story about someone nearly getting killed helps us avoid the same fate. Amazing, huh? Today, I have a story about how the forest could have killed me last weekend. Brain scientists say you’re gonna love hearing this.

I was hiking on a forest path when I felt the prick of a thorn in my ankle—no big deal. Within a millisecond, the pain escalated to screaming intensity. I’m a pest professional and a seasoned hiker, and I knew precisely what was to blame. Not them again!

I reached down, pulled up the bottom of my left pant leg, and, sure enough, a yellowjacket (wasp) clung to my sock and was stinging the bejeezus out of my ankle. I brushed the critter aside, and it flew away, no harm done. What I did next could mean the difference between survival or death by allergic reaction. What did I do? I ran like a bat out of hell. Why? Because I might have unknowingly stepped on the hole in the ground that the yellowjacket colony used as a doorway to an underground nest, and, if so, dozens of reinforcements would have stung even more bejeezus out of me. I’ve had the dubious honor of experiencing a mass sting-a-thon, and it’s about the most intense pain imaginable. Not to mention the threat of allergic reaction.

Luckily, no wasps chased me. My ankle tormenter likely got trapped under my pant leg by freak chance. Nevertheless, I quickened my pace home because people can have allergic reactions to wasp stings even if they’ve never experienced an allergic reaction. I arrived home and had no reaction. I was rewarded for letting the wasp fly away safely with three days of a swollen, painful, itchy ankle. No good deed, huh?

Humans are wired to love stories, and hopefully, you enjoyed this one. As a bonus, brain scientists say it can help you stay alive. Since you are alive, reader, you’ve got a darn good brain up there! Use it wisely. Have a wasp-free week, everyone!

Natural-Born Heroes

Thu, 09 Nov 2023 17:27:30 GMT

What are the best things in life? A loving family? No doubt. Good friends? Sure, sign me up. A clean, quiet home? Sounds like a winner. Anything else?

One of the best things in life is to be great at something, especially your job. I spent years of trial and error learning pest management and can now boast I am great at it. And when a man reaches the top in this business, new challenges are as exciting as the latest Mario game. For the cherry on top, I get paid to play.

I experienced that excitement recently while starting a very challenging rat job. The best things in life are shared, so I called together two of my experienced workers, Gil and Alfredo, and showed them pictures of the massive rat infestation. For the next twenty minutes, we brainstormed on how to defeat the seemingly invisible rats. What a joy—three professionals calling on decades of hard-earned experience to help a homeowner. Ah, the thrill of the chase! A fly on the wall would not have understood our specialized language, and that only sweetens the pie. We belong to an exclusive club.

Weeks later, after many hard-fought battles on both sides, I had rid the cabin of rats. The customer was thrilled, and so was I. A hero is a great thing to be. Pest professionals know the feeling well.

If asked to give a commencement speech, I would tell the graduates to find work they enjoy and excel at. Take pride in being the best. Be a little cocky—then back up your swagger! Oh, and add a dash of style and panache for good measure. The world is filled with boring, mediocre people—dare to be the exception to the rule!

Enough of this motivational stuff! A word to the wise is sufficient. Have a wise week, everyone!

One Last Rat

Fri, 03 Nov 2023 16:00:47 GMT

This past week, I finally solved a pest mystery that’s been dogging me for over a decade. Unfortunately, my customer had passed away, so the thrill of victory was bittersweet. The customer is king… even when they’re long gone.

Mary, the homeowner, first called me in 2010 to get rats out of her elegant, custom house. For decades, other companies failed to eliminate the relentless rodents. Mary was at her wit’s end. I assured her I would eradicate the rats, and for the next 6 months, I fought hard to find the rat entry points and plug them. After every service call, I gave Mary a news brief of my progress. Finally, I could find no more rodent entry openings. But in rat control, you never know.

One day, Mary called me, complaining of a foul odor in the bathroom. A dead rat, perhaps? I searched but found no openings. The source of unpleasant odors can vary, so I asked Mary to wait. The odor went away, but thirty-five years of pest experience told me a rat was to blame. Mary passed away in 2018, and her son moved in.

Last week, he called me, saying rat droppings were falling from the bathroom’s exhaust fan in the ceiling. The clue I needed! I dashed over there, climbed up on the flat roof, and inspected the area above the bathroom. The only possible entry point was the fan outlet covered with a little metal roof. I grabbed an inspection mirror from my truck and peered down the throat like a dentist checking for cavities. No screen! What!? Who installs a bathroom vent cover on a flat roof with no screen to keep animals out? No matter. I rushed to give Mary’s son the great news, and he thanked me, but to him, I was just a worker doing his job. To Mary, I was the hero returning from the wars with tales of glory. She would have been thrilled.

Wherever you are, Mary, I want you to know that I finally got the last rat out of your beloved home. Have a rat-free week, everyone!

The Unsung Hero

Thu, 26 Oct 2023 15:18:59 GMT

“Help Mike, it’s crawling on the screen door!” Erika called out frantically. “Quick, come get it!” I didn’t know what was scaring her, but it was a creature of some sort. I ran from my office into our main office and quickly spotted a small animal crawling on the outside of our front screen door. Wow, you just don’t see that in broad daylight.

It looked like a mouse, but it was noon, and mice are rarely active during the day. As I got closer, the features of a cute mouse came into focus. Why was it active during the daytime? Well, that’s pest management for you—lots of questions with few answers.

Yes, I’m writing about rodents again. But I can’t help it because when COVID-19 hit, rodent populations exploded and have remained high ever since. Why? People escaping the lockdown headed to the mountains and brought lots of food and treats. Also, several wet winters have created ideal conditions for rodents. Rain and snow bring an abundance of plant life. Plants offer seeds and create hiding places for small critters… and the rest is rodent history.

Back at my office, I bolted outside as the rogue mouse jumped off the screen, ran straight up a stucco wall, then stopped in a corner and hung there. I was caught by surprise and did what any pest professional would: I pulled out my phone and took a picture. I then shooed the critter away. It belongs outside and will stay outside because our office has been professionally sealed against rodent entry. At Home Defenders, we have proven solutions against mouse pollutions.

I strode back inside expecting a hero’s welcome, but Erika and the other secretaries were absorbed in their paperwork. Oh well… we mice-shooing heroes don’t expect thanks; we’re just happy to save the day. Hold on! Is that a big, hairy spider on the Venetian blind? Stand clear, ladies, I’ll save the day! Oh, wait, it’s just a harmless piece of fuzzy lint. Crisis averted… darn it! Have an unsung hero kind of week, everybody!

Are you ready to own your own business?

Thu, 19 Oct 2023 17:53:28 GMT

>> Are you in touch with what’s happening around you? Can you ride a motorcycle without getting run over? Do you know who owns that vacation house two doors down? Are you aware of the strengths and weaknesses of your co-workers? Are you aware of your own strengths and weaknesses?

>> Can you laugh at yourself? Can you ignore insults? Do you view revenge as a waste of time and energy? Do you handle threats with poise? Can you go home and not worry about work?

>> Can you admit when you’re wrong? Can you make a list of your own faults? Can you look at a dispute from the other person’s point of view? Do you regularly say to yourself: “That’s not good enough. I can do better”? Can you change lifelong habits?

>> Are you self-disciplined? Can you effortlessly say no to alcohol/drugs? Do you burn through money? Can you give up recreation—for years—to build your business? Are you 100% committed?

>> Do you trust your gut instincts? Are you confident you can handle whatever challenges might come? Do you easily and naturally think for yourself? Are you an original?

>> Are you aware that we all have blind spots? Do you see the value of bouncing ideas off others? Can you spend an hour asking questions and listening? Do you have the patience to let answers come to you?

>> Are you a natural-born leader? Are you comfortable saying: “OK, everybody, let’s get back to work.” Will you tell your workers what they don’t want to hear? Are you the adult in the room?

If you answered “no” to most of these questions, you may not be ready to own a business. But if you think you’re ready, welcome to the club. Misery loves company!

Did you laugh at that joke? If not, I recommend fully stocking your liquor cabinet before starting your business. Better yet, don’t quit your day job. Have a welcome-to-hell kind of week, everyone!

Do you have lint in your louvers?

Thu, 12 Oct 2023 15:33:42 GMT

Today, I will illustrate how to avoid a home fire. That may seem like an odd topic for a pest professional, but we deal with this issue every day. Rodents and their razor-sharp teeth never sleep.

Most people know gas dryers can cause house fires. But do you know how to prevent dryer fires? I almost learned that lesson the hard way. Last week, I grabbed a flashlight, pulled out the lint trap from my dryer, and peered down the throat of the exhaust line. A wad of highly flammable lint partially blocked the flow of air. Yikes! Not sure how to proceed, I searched Amazon and found a “dryer vent cleaner kit” that comes with a long, flexible vacuum attachment. I bought the kit and sucked out the trapped lint. From that moment on, I started my dryer with confidence.

Now, let’s talk about the dryer vent cover outside your home. Have you inspected it lately? If you haven’t, do it ASAP! Are the louvers (or the hinged flap) clogged with lint? Is the vent cover close to the ground where rodents have access? Have rodents chewed a hole in the louvers? Can you see rodent droppings in the duct’s interior?

If the vent cover is clogged with lint, remove it with a screwdriver or shop vac. (Or whatever works.) If you see droppings inside the vent, call us to eliminate the rodents. We’ll replace the plastic cover with a chew-resistant metal one. Rats and mice chew through plastic like, well, rodent incisors through cheap plastic vent covers. (The Uniform Building Code should require metal vent covers, but that’s another matter.)

I rarely give my readers homework assignments, but please inspect your dryer. Today! A stitch in time saves nine… as well as a charred home. Have a lint-free week, everybody.

In Praise of Pettiness

Thu, 05 Oct 2023 16:15:33 GMT

“What the world needs now is love, sweet, love,” Dionne Warwick sang in her 1966 hit song. Perhaps that sentiment was true in the turbulent 60s, but is it still valid in 2023? Say what you will about past decades, at least service companies cared about their customers.

What the world needs now is old-fashioned pettiness. Let me explain. Every week at my office, we experience problems with the corporate companies we hire for various services. We try to contact these cold, impersonal behemoths and resolve the issue their incompetence created, but we run a gauntlet trying to talk to a human being. When we do make contact, their bumbling representatives offer little help. And forget about talking to a supervisor. I swear most companies have fired all management and rely on poorly trained people at call centers to resolve issues. Big companies probably call that cost-cutting. I call it lousy service.

How do the CEOs at these companies sleep? Where is the pride? Yes, they drive brand-new Aston Martins and fly in private jets, but I wouldn’t run one of those awful companies for all the tea in China. I need my beauty sleep.

I began writing these articles in 2006. Sure, I wanted to advertise my business, but a more compelling reason pushed me to take on the extra workload. I wanted my competitors to open the newspaper, see my smiling face, read my article, and feel defeated. “How in the heck do I top that?” I imagined them thinking to themselves. While at the helm of my ship, I am a petty, egotistical son of a gun. I want to be the best, and I put my money where my mouth is. My bank account suffers from my ego, but I can live without an Aston Martin. I can’t live without taking pride in my company.

As long as I run Home Defenders, we will answer our telephones and treat our customers like friends, neighbors, and family. I am just too petty to run my company any other way. Have a petty, egotistical week, everyone!

The Big Stink

Thu, 28 Sep 2023 15:31:34 GMT

The workday began as most early summer workdays begin. A gentle breeze filled the air with the scent of rose and lilac as the sun poured its rays down on the mountain. Could Heaven be any better? But, in a matter of hours, an image lodged in my brain that does not dislodge easily. That image will soon be stamped on your brain. Welcome to the club.

I walked into a regular customer's cabin and noticed a foul odor. Those can have many causes, such as the homeowner’s cooking, so I brushed it aside. But, as I treated the baseboards for spiders on the lowest level, the odor grew in intensity. Uh-oh.

I didn’t want to drum up extra work—tracking down mystery odors can take hours—but the customer is king, so I asked the owner if she’d noticed the smell.

“Yes, Mike, but who do I call for help?”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Ingersol, I’ll get to the bottom of the problem.”

I suspected three common causes:

Dead animal in the buildup. From the strong smell, I expected a raccoon.
Sewer gases. They enter homes from dried-up P-Traps under sinks and showers.
Natural gas leak.

The smell was strongest downstairs, so I began my search in the buildup. I scanned the ground for a dead animal but saw none. Next, I traced an old galvanized toilet drain pipe on a downhill slope. I came to a big crack. Below the crack, in a scene right out of a horror movie, a bubbling brew of raw sewage appeared in the beam of my flashlight. Blecch!

Mrs. Ingersol was shocked to learn of the stink pond, but she knew a good plumber. And as that image of raw, bubbling sewage seeped into my brain, I felt professional satisfaction that I had kept my promise and got to the, ahem, bottom of the problem. Have an inspect-your-buildup-from-time-to-time kind of week, everybody!

The Mystery on the Moon

Thu, 21 Sep 2023 15:36:23 GMT

Today, I’m going to write about something that adds spice to life. This thing lives in my articles, but I’ve never written about it. Why not? Because I’ve never thought about it. I don’t think about what I don’t know.

What am I babbling about?

That delicious sense of not knowing what’s coming next. Will this article be about carpenter ants? Rodents? The man on the moon? Everybody loves a mystery.

On the subject of mysteries, I got a call for bat removal services years ago. Arriving at the home, I heard a chorus of squeaking sounds coming from a wall, a sure sign bats lived inside the wall void. To complete the job, I needed to find the opening outside the house where those bats came and went. I found none. What to do? Bats go outside to feed at sundown, so I returned at sunset. No bats exited. The mystery deepened.

I returned the next evening and saw no bats. On the third evening, the homeowners answered the door. “Great news, Mike! We haven’t heard a peep.” I put my ear to the wall. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The bats never returned. Pest problems don’t usually solve themselves, but once in a while, they do. My customer was happy, so I was happy. Case closed.

Pest professionals encounter as many mysteries as Los Angeles police detectives. Unlike them, we don’t deal with human tragedy. Instead, we blow our trumpets and charge over the hill like the fearless cavalry of old. Pest management is the most heroic job in the world!

Now, how will this article end? I’ve almost finished, and even I don’t know. Let’s sit back and savor the playful mystery of the unknown. And if you hear a trumpet blowing, it’s just Home Defenders pulling up to your cabin like those fearless cavalry of old. We ain’t afraid of no mysteries! Have a heroic week, everyone!

Honestly, Erika?

Thu, 14 Sep 2023 21:19:22 GMT

Help Wanted: Job duties include typing pest reports, scheduling service calls, answering the phone… and telling the boss he’s wrong. Apply at your own risk.

Writing these articles is fun, but it’s hard work, too. I learned to write the same way I learned to be a professional exterminator: being told I hadn’t gotten the job done. Customers tell me, after a pest treatment, when ants return to their sugar bowl, but finding someone to critique my articles is difficult. My secretaries proofread them, but Alejandra and Nicole take no risks with a mechanical, “It’s good.” I learn nothing from that. Luckily, I employ a secret weapon secretary. Her name is Erika.

Erika has worked at Home Defenders for over twenty years, and she cuts me no slack. Once, she read a rough draft and handed it back to me. “You can come up with a better punchline, Mike!” Her lack of diplomacy angered me, but deep down, I knew she was right. I racked my brain and wrote a new punchline. I handed it to Erika. I held my breath. She laughed. Bingo!

Another time, Erika argued against the very premise of my article. She was dead wrong, and I explained why in painstaking detail. Her icy expression spoke volumes. The following day, I reread the essay with fresh eyes and realized the premise was stupid. That’s humbling, but better late than never.

As a small business owner, I make my living getting things right, so I admit when I’m wrong. Thanks, Erika, for having the guts to tell the man who signs your check he’s wrong. And this is one article you are guaranteed to love! (Hi readers, this is Erika, and I approve this article… but Mike could have written a better punchline. Have a brutally honest week, everybody!)

Two Predators in a Pod

Thu, 07 Sep 2023 02:58:15 GMT

Which one is regal?

“Oh boy, a wild critter in my backyard! My favorite thing!”

I glanced out the window to my back deck last week and saw only the backside of a furry animal—bigger than a breadbox—running down the steps. I bolted to my sliding glass door, opened it slowly, and then tip-toed to the top of the steps. The critter in question, a bobcat, stood at the bottom, surveying his domain. A minute later, he and I would have a face-off.

“Oh, no,” I thought. “That natural-born hunter is stalking squirrels in my backyard. Look out, squirrels!”

I love seeing bobcats, hawks, golden eagles, owls, coyotes, foxes, and other predators in our mountains. Have you been lucky enough to spot a pygmy owl on the hunt? Google them, and photos of the adorable birds will delight your eyes. Pygmy owls eat pretty songbirds, but nobody’s perfect.

Predator animals, like pest management professionals, do the important work of hunting rodents. We work inside the home; they work outside—that’s man and nature working in harmony. We love our work, and I’ll bet forest predators love the thrill of the chase, too.

Feeling playful, I followed my furry visitor. Calling softly and walking gently, I crept closer and closer behind. “Warning! Bobcat! Warning! Bobcat!” blue jays squawked from the safety of trees.

To my surprise, the bobcat didn’t run for cover. At thirty feet away, he turned to face me, sat on the ground, and folded his paws in front. I stopped in my tracks. Silence.

For a few seconds, we shared a moment. The bobcat studied me, and I studied him. We were two professional rodent hunters, two peas in a pod, enjoying a sunny day in the San Bernardino Mountains. One of us was young, handsome, and regal, and the other, well… maybe not so much. You guess which was which.

Wrong answer, people! Have a young and regal week, everyone!

The Luckiest Buddy in the World

Tue, 29 Aug 2023 22:49:25 GMT

Here Lucky Kitty!

The Luckiest Buddy in the World

This week’s story eats at my soul—for more than one reason. At least it ended well.

Years ago, a woman called me to get a skunk out of the crawl space of her vacation home, located on the west side of Twin Peaks. The strong smell of skunk juice greeted my nostrils as I pulled into the driveway.

Skunks dig like backhoes and often tunnel under foundations, so I carefully inspected the exterior foundation for an entry opening but I was stumped. The woman waited impatiently on the back deck. “I have to get back to my home in Orange County,” she said, “could you come back in two weeks and check again?” I agreed and headed to my next job. But I was puzzled over how that skunk was getting into that cabin. Being stumped eats at my soul.

The next morning, I went back—I was determined to solve the mystery. I got down on my hands and knees, removed leaves and wood and junk piled against the foundation, and then—eureka! I found the hidden tunnel! Crying out in joy, I heard a cat cry out in despair. Huh?

I walked toward the cry and was shocked at what I saw. A calico cat was trapped in a Havahart live trap baited with cat food. The homeowner had undoubtedly put out the cage in a last-ditch effort to stop the skunk. The cat looked at me with pleading eyes, and I looked at him with horrified eyes. After a moment, I broke the silence. “You are the luckiest feline in the world,” I said, deadpan. “Time to go home.” I set him loose and he ran away, a little older and wiser, as the bell on his collar jingled down the aisle of pine trees. Good luck, little buddy!

I hesitated to publish this story because my memory of seeing that caged cat—destined to starve to death slowly—also eats at my soul. Hopefully, my words will save another animal. Have a be-kind-to-animals week, everyone!

I Hate Those Things!

Wed, 23 Aug 2023 22:25:58 GMT

No, I don't hate mice—they're just doing their thing in the forest.

Quick—what sound does a pest technician most hate to hear? Is it the hiss of a leaky hand-held sprayer spewing chemicals all over his leg? Maybe. Is it the thump-thump-thump of a flat tire at the end of a tough work day? Could be. Is it the boss’s gruff voice bellowing, “I’m going out to check on one of your jobs!” Bingo!

I recently got a call from an irritated customer: “Mike, your worker just finished a mouse job at my cabin, but I’m still hearing scratching sounds in my ceiling. Can you take a look?”

“I’ll head right over,” I said. I didn’t blame my technician because blocking rodents from a home is very challenging. It’s like proofreading an article—you tend to miss the same typo over and over. My secretaries look it over, but they’re only human.

As I drove to the cabin, I wasn't convinced that the scratching sounds were made by mice that survived my worker's attack. Mysterious noises are the most challenging pest problem because they can have dozens of causes—including ones that have nothing to do with pests.

One time, an elderly customer called me for help. “We have a bird somewhere in our loft bedroom,” the frustrated husband said. “That darn critter is chirping night and day—my wife is fit to be tied!” I marched up the loft steps and waited. Nothing. Not a peep. On the verge of giving up, an ear-piercing “beep” broke the silence. Ah, yes… the smoke detector needed a fresh battery. God, I hate those annoying smoke detectors!

Back at the cabin with the scratching sounds, after doing a detailed inspection—crawling on my hands and knees—I discovered a slight warp in the siding that allowed mice to squeeze inside. Eureka! I grabbed a tube of caulk and sealed the opening, then moved on to the next challenge. That’s what I do. I’m a Home Defender.

Oh, and if you see any typos in this article … I’m blaming my secretaries! Have a beep-free week, everyone!

Rats, Mice, and a Monkey on my Back

Wed, 16 Aug 2023 16:40:43 GMT

My Sweet Addiction

God, I hate her. She drives me crazy and I swear I’m kicking her out of my life for good. And this time I mean it!

Who could blame me? Rats, mice, ants, and spiders are having a banner year, and I’ve been escaping stress by wolfing down tons of sugary treats. I love the classics—pie, cookies, cake—but my favorite treat is gelato. Whoever invented that decadent Italian dessert should be honored as a hero—then promptly tarred and feathered in the town square.

Yes, readers, I love sugar, but I hate her too. I get hooked, gain weight and lose the energy I need to battle pests and fill out the mountain of boring paperwork required by the almighty State of California. At my age, sugar is poised like a leopard, eager to pounce on the last vestiges of my youth. The beast is so close I can smell her breath… it smells like… Mom’s homemade cinnamon rolls. No wonder she has me in her vise-like claws.

“Sorry, sugar, I’ve got a thing for stevia now and we should go our separate ways.”

That’s what I’m dying to tell her. But, man oh man, when the good times are rolling and she and I are painting the town red, sharing a chocolate shake at a 50s diner, I am in seventh heaven. Why can’t she go her way while I go mine? We can get together and enjoy a slice of cherry pie, but she needs to leave me alone! With so many mice and rats going bananas on our mountain, I’ve got enough monkeys on my back.

As I write this, I have broken my sugar addiction. She and I are getting along fine—she sends her love, reader. But it’s Saturday night, and my honey is coming to my place, loaded for bear. I hope she didn’t make a pit stop at Dairy Queen and whisper “hot fudge sundae, baby” into that tinny drive-through microphone. Once I start, I just can’t stop.

Oh well. A little taste won’t hurt. Right, reader? Have a cold turkey kind of week, everyone!

Sgt. Gilbert's Lonely Rat's Club

Fri, 11 Aug 2023 15:53:19 GMT

Sgt. Gilbert’s Lonely Rat’s Club

Have you ever thought about picking up a live rat? A wild one, I mean. Picture this: You’re working in your kitchen when you see a rat scamper by. Would you reach down and grab the critter by the scruff of the neck and holler, “I got you, you darn varmint!” Would you?

I’ve worked in pest management for thirty-five years and never in my wildest dreams have I thought about grabbing a live rat. When I was just a rookie, a pest management veteran warned me about rats.

“Never corner a live rat,” he said. “They might run up your leg and slice your jugular with their razor-sharp teeth. Also, they carry rat bite fever, which is one nasty disease.”

Imagine my surprise yesterday when my pest manager Gilbert showed me a photo of himself wearing animal control gloves and proudly holding up two live rats by the scruff of the neck. He could have faked the picture, but he had a story to back it up.

“Well, Mike, all we did was corner the rats in a buildup and then force them into a little plastic trash can,” Gil said nonchalantly, as if he grabbed live rats every day. Looking over the photo, I thought, “Darn… what’s the learning curve on that skill? Wouldn’t you get attacked a few times before getting the knack of it? That is nuts!”

As Gil admired his photo, I said, “Well, uh—good job!”

Summer is here, and rats hide from predators in your safe home. If you hear mysterious noises or see telltale rodent droppings, call us and we’ll give you a free estimate to escort them out by hair on their chinny chin chins. Here at Home Defenders, we believe the only good home is a rat-free home! (If you think otherwise, hey, more power to you!)

Some readers may wonder when I might try grabbing a live rat, thereby joining Gilbert’s elite, though lonely, “Rat Grabber Club.” Here’s my answer, short and sweet: Never ever. Have a rat bite fever-free week, everyone!

Please, Mr. President

Thu, 03 Aug 2023 22:30:32 GMT

Pest Management an Olympic sport?

“Good evening, America! This is sports reporter, Johnny Fellini, live at the 2024 Paris Olympics. I’m thrilled to report that America just grabbed the gold in the newly added sport of pest management!”

“Competition was fierce early on, but U.S. team captain Gilberto Rios executed a superb ‘rat trap toss’ followed with a rare triple axel ‘ladder ascent.’ And when team compadre Alfredo “Pollo” Moreno completed the grueling ‘State of California paperwork marathon’ in record time, the fat lady sang her swan song for the badly outplayed ‘baseboard splashers’ from Team Liechtenstein.”

“And that gorgeous fat lady kept on crooning in the ‘crawl space race’ as Cornell ‘Cornbread’ Bredford fumed the competition by nimbly wriggling under a floor beam in a show of dexterity that would make a Mongolian acrobat turn green with envy. Take that, Mongolia!”

“Unfortunately, in a classless move, the manager of Team Liechtenstein lodged a formal complaint, claiming Cornbread’s maneuver was illegal. But the judges ruled in our favor as the crowd serenaded the disgraced manager with jeers, catcalls, and a few well-deserved obscene gestures. Better luck in four years, sore loser!”

“In the grueling ‘termite report typing joust’, Alejandra ‘Chata’ Etrador delivered a karate chop keystroke to all rivals with her brilliantly executed ‘control + alt + delete’ followed by a sneak attack ‘caps lock’ as the crowd rose to their feet, chanting, ‘best Olympics ever, best Olympics ever!’”

“My sources tell me this was the most viewed event in television history, beating royal weddings and funerals by a long shot. Congratulations to the geniuses at the Olympic Committee for adding pest management as an Olympic sport! This is Johnny Fellini, sports reporter extraordinaire, signing off.”

So, Mr. Thomas Bach, president of the Olympic Committee, as I have just illustrated, the entire world will call you a genius if you take my suggestion and add pest management as an Olympic sport at the 2024 Paris Olympics. Thank you for reading my letter.

Very truly yours—Michael A. Nolan, Home Defenders Pest Management. And have an Olympic-size week, everyone!

The Day Delight Came to Town

Thu, 27 Jul 2023 15:19:42 GMT

Dodgeball delight!

The Day Delight Came to Town

(The following incident occurred in 1978 at Routt Catholic High School in Jacksonville, Illinois. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.)

Sean “Radar” Flynn was nervous. Not only was he leaving our school grounds—a crime punishable by detention under Sister Mary Mercita’s stern gaze—he was also on a mission to buy contraband. He slipped out the back gym door, wad of cash in hand, as our band of dodgeball brothers wished him luck.

Twenty minutes later, with dodgeball providing a chaotic distraction, Radar snuck back inside. We boys gathered in a circle around the bench press as our hero handed out the goodies. I took my package, and the thing was a work of art—long, cylindrical, and rolled to perfection. It had a Spanish name, but it was all Chinese to me. Radar called it a “burrito.”

I’ll never forget when the first Mexican restaurant, El Gringo Loco, opened in my white-bread hometown. The spicy, exotic cuisine put the fear of God into our parents—they only ate pot roast—and that made those enchiladas and chimichangas taste even better. How did I ever live without salsa?

Feeling adventurous, my brother Dave brought tacos home for dinner one day. Dad studied his suspiciously, then took a bite. The taco gods were surely hooting and firing pistols in delight as the crispy shell shattered into a dozen pieces. “So, Dad, do you like it?” Dave naively asked. Dad’s verdict was short and sour: “I do not like fighting my food!“ Adios, tacos.

Just as Dad doesn’t like fighting his food, homeowners don’t like fighting pests. Whatever’s making your world crumble—ants or spiders or rodents—call today and we’ll rush to your home like Radar speeding to El Gringo Loco. You can count on Home Defenders to deliver the goods!

Dad eventually came around and now enjoys Mexican food. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, my overworked mom loved Mexican food from the get-go. After all, it had the one quality she appreciated most in a meal: Somebody else made it. Have a hot, spicy week, everybody!

Send Complains to Mother Nature

Wed, 19 Jul 2023 16:53:40 GMT

Mice is my own home!

Well, I just battled mice in my own cabin, and yes, I feel embarrassed about it. Unfortunately, the mice paid the price.

How on earth do mice invade the home of a seasoned exterminator? Well, an electrician worked on my cabin three months ago. He drilled an opening in my home’s foundation and did not plug it—one small hole for man, one giant road for mice. To make matters worse, I failed to inspect the electrician’s work after he finished. I know better, but I got lazy.

I eliminated the mice with snap traps baited with peanut butter, but I hated hurting the beasties. They’re just so cute, and this invasion was easily preventable. Nevertheless, mice transmit diseases and chew electrical wires, and we must get them out of our homes. They can live, born free and all, out in the forest.

Over the decades, I’ve learned there are three kinds of mountain cabins.

Those infested with mice, and a professional exterminator—or a persistent homeowner or their cat—has gotten them out.
Those currently infested with mice.
Those that will be infested with mice.

Sorry, folks, but mice are world-class masters at sneaking into mountain cabins. Send your complaints to Mother Nature. And, for the love of Pete, call us if you hear running or scratching sounds in your ceilings or walls. The quicker we run to your rescue, the easier the process will go for all concerned. A stitch in time.

Now the good news: We can block mice out of most homes. Homeowners can then live happy and pest free and all… until some worker leaves a small opening, and the mice squirm back inside the cabin. In pest management, good news is like an avocado on a countertop—it goes bad quickly. Blame Mother Nature for that too. Have a big bowl of guacamole kind of week, everyone!

Triangles are Toughest!

Thu, 13 Jul 2023 15:43:58 GMT

Get outta my way, rectangles!

Triangles are Toughest!

Hey Everybody! My name is Osiel. I’m six months old, and my mommy works for Home Defenders. Our boss, Mike, is busy working on a big bat job this week, so I’m taking over his writing duties. This is gonna be fun! Are you ready to hear a baby pitch a pest company? Ready or not, here I come!

Hello, mountain homeowners! Are problem pests invading your sweet cabin? That can really ruin your day, huh? Then call Home Defenders ‘cause we huff and we puff and take a bite outta bugs! Ha! I just made that up! Anyway, I’d better say something more, like a call to action.

Be sure and call us today, or I’ll … I’ll come over to your cabin and poop all over the place—a poop-poop here, a poop-poop there, here a poop, there a poop, everywhere a poop-poop, Old Macdonald had a farm! I’m six months old, so pooping is about the only skill I have… if you can call it a skill. It’s more of an automatic bodily function. Nevertheless, my body has mastered the art. Just ask Mommy.

Anyway… what the heck was I talking about? At my age, I can only concentrate for a few seconds, then I move on to something else. To make matters worse, I’ve been preoccupied with learning shapes. I’m pretty sure I have the round kind figured out, but geometric shapes are throwing me for a loop. How do adults see the difference between squares and rectangles? I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t figure it out. And don’t get me started on triangles! Why would anyone invent those?

I’ll be crawling soon, and I simply must master shapes. Heck, I don’t want to be crawling to the kitchen, making a beeline for those bewitching lower cabinets—then whammo! I smash into something shaped like a triangle. I just can’t see ‘em! But, Mommy will pick me up and cuddle me, so it’s not the end of the world. Have a non-geometric week, everyone!

Is Birdsong Still Free?

Thu, 06 Jul 2023 18:04:35 GMT

Who do we most take for granted?

Is Birdsong Still Free?

They say the best things in life are free, and that’s mostly true. Morning birdsong is free, and everybody loves that chorus of joy. Can you imagine mountain life without it? How about the big blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds? It doesn’t cost a penny to enjoy a lovely summer day.

Nevertheless, the best things in life are those we most take for granted. Don’t believe me? Let’s consider a mother. How many of us genuinely appreciate all a mother does, especially when we’re children? She is a cook/nurse/counselor/friend/life coach rolled into one worn-out ball of love. What would you give, reader, to have your mother—in the prime of her youth—rushing to your bedside when you come down with a fever? And, no matter how much she gives, it’s usually not enough. Perhaps the best things in life are the things we most criticize. (As a kid, I did my share.)

Sometimes, businesses get taken for granted. I received a lone check in the mail yesterday, made out to Home Defenders. The customer didn’t bother to put his address in the memo line, so I didn’t know who sent it or why. Our mystery man took it for granted that we were waiting on pins and needles for his check. I showed it to my secretaries, and the mystery was solved.

“That’s Mr. Tobias’s check,” Nicole said, short and sweet. “We got rid of the mice in his cabin, and he said he would send a check. I’ve been waiting for it.”

Well, the customer was right all along. You know what, reader? As long as I own this company, we’ll continue answering our phones, giving personal service, and catering to our customer’s needs. Corporate, robotic pest companies are gaining ground daily, but the birds will keep singing at Home Defenders. So take us for granted—we’ll take it as a compliment.

But please write the service address on your check. We are, like a mother, only human. Have a singsong kind of week, everyone!