Tuesday, April 28, 2015

La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha!

The dogs were going berzerk.  Running from one room to the other, barking frantically, and more anxiously.

The dogs getting excited is nothing new. There are a couple of cats that set up shop under our house (I have this odd vision of a Cat Speakeasy underneath my floorboards, complete with a lookout to warn when the upstairs cops are coming out).  Kathe ignores the barking and goes about her business.

But then a sudden sense of urgency from the dogs made her change directions.

I feel that I should explain one piece of information before continuing with the story, O Best Beloved.  If there is one thing that freaks my wife out completely, it is a roach.  There is something about the unpredictable nature of their flight patterns that terrifies her. There is something about the look that they have that gives her the willies. But she hates them so much that she keeps hairspray in every room.

That's right.  Hairspray.

Apparently, hairspray will gum up the internal works of a roach, and 1) suffocate the roach, and 2) (much more importantly) make the roach unable to fly.  Once it is not flying, and not breathing, the roach is no threat, and you can scoop it up and dispose of it.   

Back to our tale:

The thing that has gotten the dogs so excited is a four-foot long cockroach.  We have had several weeks of heavy rain, and the inside of the house is dry...

...and we are a week from having our twice-a-year visit from the exterminators. So our house seemed as good as any for a sneaky meter-long cockroach to come in, so as to to get away from cats, rain, and wind. Kathe reached for the bottle of hairspray, and while trying to keep the attack dashchunds at bay, sprayed the roach.

PSSSSHSHHSSHSSS!

Hairsprayed roaches do not die an immediate death.  They linger.  And the simple truth is, lingering roaches do not put the dogs' minds at ease, so they were still very excited, showing off their powerful hot-dog wrath in a choreographed series of safe-distance lunges, snaps, and barks. Because my wife did not want the dogs to lunge and snap at the now-dying (and possibly poisoned) cockroach, she took matters under foot.

Skkkkkkquelch.

Grabbing the dogs (Lucie shrugged out of her harness in mid-lunge), throwing them out of the room, Kathe squared her shoulders to clean up the cucarachabbatoir. Toilet paper, paper towels, windex, bleach, ammonia (yes, I know), borax, Ajax, muriatic acid, whatever she could find went into making sure that there was no roach guts left behind.

She then called me to report her victory over the hated scarafaggio.

But I suspect she first made the call to schedule the exterminators.

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