It was Waterloo for us and the rat, a cunning creature, a long, long night; he was tearing our kitchen apart, wrecking our refrigerator, eating my favorite crackers, ignoring every one of our traps. How do you stop a wild rodent who is smarter than you are?

And guess what? I took a shower with a rat close by!

We learned yesterday that we had lost the first round with a wicked-smart rat. He was still around. So, he left Bud out of his crate to guard the kitchen and refrigerator, the cat’s secret hideout for storing food.  He got into the bottom and back of the refrigerator and stored an impressive mounds of food.

Bud’s growls and barks awakened me, a clear sign of a struggle. I rushed downstairs, only to find signs of a fierce battle. I thought it had ended that the rat had fled. But I was wrong. Never underestimate the resilience of a rat.

We eventually realized the rat was hiding in the refrigerator. It looked like he and Bud had a monumental struggle; stuff was all over the floor. When Bud locks into something, there is no turning back for him.

There was no blood or other signs of a killing. I started to realize the rat had to be hiding somewhere. I didn’t know it was the refrigerator’s base, nowhere near food.

I pulled the refrigerator off the wall and tried to get some rest. When I came down again, paper and rat droppings were more signs of a struggle. Maria came down just after 5 a.m., and I turned and saw the rat bolt out (we had left Bud outside for a bit).

Bud had torn about the cardboard cover in the back, trying to get at the rat, making an even bigger mess.

When we let Bud out to do his business, the rat, ever savvy, bolted for the bathroom and the hole he came in with a month ago, which we sealed. He was so fast I only saw a blur.

He was trapped. Then he bolted, and I gave chase. He fled into the bathroom and a hole where he had gotten in and out before, but it was sealed, and he panicked.

He ran under the heating rail in the bathroom baseboard. I knew we had him. I grabbed a broom and brained him, but he slithered under the baseboard.

I closed the door, took my shower, and got dressed.  I knew he was trapped, and the only decision was how to kill him. I’ve never taken a shower with a rat nearby before.

Maria entered the bathroom and joined the fray, as she tends to do.

She took off the radiator cover, and while I got dressed, he ran out, and Maria tossed a box over him. Knowing that rats have to be taken 50 miles to make sure they don’t return, I went to get my rifle while she ran out with the box into the woods.

In my heart, I knew Maria would not be able to kill him. I told her she could drown him in the pond, or I could shoot him. She feared him busting out of the box, so she went with him and headed for the woods until I had shoes on. I was pondering how to shoot him without shooting my foot off.

I loaded the rifle, got into some shoes, and followed her to the woods behind the house.

To my surprise, Zip came with me over the stream, into the pasture, and alongside me every step of the way. I called out to Maria, but she was a long way off.  She heard me and yelled back.

When she got up to me, I saw the box was empty, and she had let him go.

I got angry. I know he’ll be back and try again, but I also love her for her Buddhist heart.

She just isn’t someone who would kill anything, from a spider to a rat to a sheep. The night was a long horror, in a way. The rat did a lot of damage before we got him. We’ve sealed all of his entry points, and Zip might get him on the way back. Next time, I’ll carry him out with my rifle.

It’s incredible how well we work together. There is no arguing or anger; we all get down to it, whatever it is. We each had a role to play—wife, husband, dog. Zinnia and Fate, no fools, hid in the dining room. I wished for a moment that Zip was spending nights in the farmhouse.

Maria was heroic on the floor, capturing the rat, opening the baseboards, and carrying him into the woods, even if she couldn’t kill him.

Maybe an owl or coyote will get him, maybe not.

It was not a pleasant night; I needed to write this while still awake. (I have to go to my primary care physician this morning for a regularly scheduled check-up.)

The battle might have damaged the refrigerator beyond repair, but this is also why I love living on a farm in the country.

We are tested and challenged all the time. I feel very much alive here, and at an age when I was expected to head south for the winter, I’ve never been happier.

I have no interest in retiring or buying a condo in a warm place. This place is fantastic; you couldn’t make this stuff up, not even for a movie. Life is always just around the corner.

She laughed. “I could not believe you are 76,” she said, “out there in a cold dawn with your rifle and your cat by your side, ready to shoot a rat.” It was amazing to see. You just don’t seem to me to be old at all.” That calmed me down.

And I could not believe my strong woman and dedicated dog and cat.

We are laughing now and reviewing our cat Waterloo, trying to piece together what happened. I am lucky to have a wife and partner like this, I thought, and happy to have a Boston Terrier; they love this.

I can’t help but have some respect for the rat, whom I was eager to shoot. He is as intelligent as I am and a lot faster on his feet. Every time something like this happens, I grow and learn—about life and myself.

This is where I am learning how to live and be alive. And to love and be loved.

It was our late-night Waterloo and another life drama that brought us closer. Death is always a shadow.

Maria felt terrible that she made sure I didn’t get to shoot the rat, but she shouldn’t feel bad. She has and earns the right to make her own decisions, and I respect that, even if I don’t always agree.

It worked out, as it usually does. I have a great story to tell, and what is more precious than that?

I love her; she’s good and real to the bones, and there isn’t a fake inch in her. My Willa Cather woman is fearless, as usual, but she is also afraid of harming any living thing.

I hope the refrigerator survives. We had to get or build a new cover for the back. Bud is pretty tough when he gets going. I was proud of him;  he was also a hero fighting for his home. Zip will be the same way.

Bud (a/k/a Zud)pinned that rat down until we could get to him. He was up all night, and I was, too. When reinforcements were necessary, they arrived.

I’m off to see my doctor. A few minutes of meditation won’t hurt.