It's getting to be a regular zoo out here, and I'm not just talking about the kids - a tail of Muskrat Sally

Relaxing this morning in the sunroom with the Sunday paper, I was surprised to hear Bill exclaim, "look who's at the door." Then again in another second, "look who's at the door." I wondered why he wasn't getting up to answer it since he sounded like it was someone we knew even though it was sort of early for visitors. He finally said, "there was a muskrat at the door."

Now I'm really confused.

"What door?" I looked at him.

"The door right here. It looked just like a muskrat looking at us through the door," he replied calmly like we always had muskrats peeping in on us.

I got up and saw nothing. "It's gone now. Are you sure it wasn't a 'possum. We have a lot more 'possums around here." Like we lived in the country and not in the middle of Cool Springs, which, if you've been paying attention, you already know is mostly retail, large office buildings, motels, and residential. Not really 'possum or muskrats. Still deer, of course. But they practically frolic on the Mall in Washington, D.C.

He was sure it wasn't a 'possum. He described what it looked like. He could have picked it out from a rodent line-up. Pointy face with the whiskers away from the face and a bushy tail. I guess it probably wasn't any more likely to be a mole or a beaver or a figment of his imagination either. He repeated again that it was at the top of our 8 steps looking in at us. He/she probably wanted breakfast. I was terribly sorry to have missed her/him since I hadn't previously seen any of the species ravishing my perennials.

At which point, there he/she was again. Down in the dog pen, a 20 x 8 ft. enclosure made with some admitedly tacky, but green, chicken-wire fencing that no one but us really saw and anyway was only meant to have the shelf life of our dogs who, bless their departed hearts, have never been noted for their longevity. Bill keeps asking when we can take it down, and I keep saying, "but, sweetheart, it's so handy for the granddogs now." Meanwhile, there was the skinny, though definitely not a squirrel either, muskrat. Obviously looking for the way back out. Pacing the perimeter. Shaking the fence. Trying to go under. Fairly frantic, I thought, though I'm also not familiar with muskrat behavior in the early stages of enforced captivity.

"You're right. Not a 'possum. Much cuter." It was my first muskrat in years, so I rushed to get my new camera. By the way, it isn't easy to photograph wildlife, I'm finding from a bird friend of mine who sits on my garden arch and sings constantly, yet flies away everytime I get the camera locked and loaded so to speak. At least the muskrat was caged. Compared to the children, you can take multiple pictures of wildlife without any lip, but they'll never face the camera and smile, which I can usually get once out of the kids. That being said, I'm pretty pleased with my first muskrat pictures. Dear Muskrat Sally.

After a few minutes Bill, being a kind soul, decided he needed to go down and direct her escape. Without anything but the clothes he had on. Which were shorts. Bare legs.

"Don't get bit," I shouted.

"I won't," he responded without an ounce of sense.

This just wasn't right. How would he direct her escape? With his foot? A leg? His whole body in a strange muskrat sally dance? Just how do you slow that muskrat down?

"Don't you think you need a shovel or something," I suggested.

VandeWater's don't usually respond to suggestions. I could picture the final outcome: rabies shots for Bill; silent, but smug satisfaction with the mental "I told you so" for me.

Fortunately, at that point, the bushy-tailed muskrat took cover under the enclosed part of our former deck that the sunroom is built on, perhaps pinging the frontal or backal lobe (whichever contains the muskrat memory) and finding the elusive route out. And out she went like a streak of greased lightning, running along the side neighbor's fence towards the back neighbor's wooded backyard. Adios, Muskrat Sally. :-(

My theory for this unusual visitation? Last night as I was going to bed around 1 a.m., I heard howling that sounded like coyotes. Not that I know what coyotes sound like, but I know they howl and I know what howling sounds like. Also, they absolutely have been spotted various places in Williamson County. My second thought, to be honest, was that it could be dogs that someone had cooped up too long. But they would have been howling longer. Then I heard that horrible sound that cats can sometimes make. Then back to quiet.

My hypothesis is that the whole thing freaked the little muskrat out of her habitat, and she hid under my deck until morning when she thought the coast was clear. Only she had been there so long she forgot the way back out until Bill scared her out again.

So, do coyotes eat muskrat? Sounds like a question for a reference librarian to me!