RATS! Dirtier than Chris Pronger

RATS! Dirtier than Chris Pronger. RATS! Scarier to women than breaking a nail. RATS! So disgusting and vile, even Charlie Brown uses them as his favourite swear word. RATS! And now that they are in the province, they are in the news. RATS!

Being one of those "severely normal" Albertans that King Ralph pandered to, I have always been fiercely proud of the fact that I've lived in a rat-free environment for the majority of my life. The only rat-related things we had as a kid were "rat-tail" combs and "The Rathole" tunnel in central Edmonton. Oh, and the dirty rats that killed Jimmy Cagney's brother in the movies. Even when Non-Albertans would scoff that being rat free was an impossibility, I stuck to my guns, patiently explaining that rats aren't native to Canada. According to the official Governement of Alberta website, http://www1.agric.gov.ab.ca/$department/deptdocs.nsf/all/agdex3441 for you ratophiles, PETA-philes and infofreaks, rats arrived in Canada in 1775 and slowly spread westward with human settlement. This is because rats are like politicians and must live around humans. Both are non-burrowing animals that cannot survive winter without a heated shelter.

The main difference between them is that politicians are better suited than lab rats for scientific experiments as you're not as liable to get emotionally attached to them.

Nonetheless. by the 1950's, the government recognized the approaching rat problem and created a buffer zone between Alberta and Saskatchewan. Hoping to... er... eRATicate the infestation, they laid down tons of poison and tracking powder to eliminate every vestige of rat-related activity within 30 miles of the border. Oddly, the website doesn't mention the Alberta/Montana border, and one can only assume the rats have too much trouble getting proper photo ID and citizenship documents to bother crossing international boundaries.

Yet, despite all their vigilence, suddenly, we have rat sightings. RATS! It's enough to give my woolies the willies! Oh sure, after the hub-bub, it was discovered to be just one rat in Calgary (not surprising) but still; what about next time? One ratty couple can be responsible for producing 150,000 progeny in a single year. (Christmas must be pricy for the parents!) We, as a province experienced a collective shudder.

I've only seen a live, non-caged rat once in my life. It was 1976. I was sixteen and living in Germany with my much, much older brother Bob, while Dad was peacekeeping in Beirut. I'll never forget that awful moment walking home from a dance at the Canadian Youth Centre. I could have taken the bus but it left at 11:00 and the dances weren't over until 11:30. I wanted to maximize any lip-locking and/or spit-swapping opportunities I could, so taking the bus was out of the question.

Getting that extra half hour of shaking my booty (that's what we called it back then) was certainly worth the mile or so walk home, especially if it involved a kiss good night. Not that I ever got one but I felt my chances were vastly improved by going home later.

Unfortunately, however, Germany is old. Really old. My brother Bob, old. The cobblestone sidewalks I had to traverse, predated the founding of Canada by centuries. And old is creepy. (Yes, even you, Bob.)

One particular leg of my trip home always filled me with heart-pounding dread. It was a cobblestone walk that featured an immense stone wall on the left and on the right, a wire fence separating the walk from an enormous, foreboding, ancient church and it's accompanying cemetary. "Heart Attack Alley" ran for a long city block and the oppressive darkness of the path was only offset slightly by a baleful lamp halfway down.

One particular dance night, I was stricken with terror when I saw that under the light was a great, big, ugly, venomous rat with teeth the size of Luxemburg. I froze in my tracks. My breathing was more laboured than that horrid OctoMom woman.

"Shoo!" I shooed it. He eyed me sneerily, about as impressed as the girls at the dance. "Scat!!" I cried. (The word I actually used is synonymous with "scat", but I digress.)

I looked around for any rock, a twig, grenade; anything I could throw at it. All I found was a couple pea-sized pebbles that would inflict about as much damage as an uncooked marshmallow. I hurled them anyway, hollering as loudly as I could. The yell came out rather quavery, however, because suddenly, the bells of the spooky old stone church began bonging the midnight chimes.

Certain I was being observed by long dead spirits occupying the darkened cemetary I lost both my inhibitions and my fear of the stupid rat and ran screaming headlong down the sidewalk and didn't stop until I was three blocks from the church. Even as I sat gulping great breaths of oxygen on a bus bench, I could still smell the acrid odor of sheer terror. I think it was coming from my pants.

This is why all true Albertans are more than happy to pay for a government department who's sole purpose is to keep the rats at bay. We, as a people are scared scatless of them. By the way, Happy Birthday, Bob!