When Daddy was building our house in the early 1960's, he tore down the old unpainted house we had lived in since I was four years old and we moved into the new house.
There was a chimney that fell down across the yard from the old house and it stayed together though there was a hole broken in it.
One morning mother was leaving for work and said she did wish those rats were killed that were in the chimney that had fallen. Now there is no one more frightened of a mouse than I am, but mother was talking about rats. I am doubly afraid of rats. At least that is what we called the gopher rats.
Daddy had a pump up pellet rifle he had ordered from the Sears and Roebuck catalog, and he had taught me to use it. I don't recall if I was in high school or already working, but one afternoon I put on my blue jeans, got that pellet gun and went hunting. I positioned myself so I could watch the hole in the chimney and I laid down on my stomach a good piece away, pumped my gun up that I had loaded, and started making a sucking sound with my mouth. Oh my, I remember it well.
The sound I made must have sounded like what the rats make because they started coming out of the hole in the chimney. I aimed and I shot one. The rest went back in the hole. I kept doing that until I had shot 21 rats and killed them. I could hardly wait for mother and daddy to come home from work so I could show them what I had done. Mother was so happy to see the dead rats laying all over the ground. I'm sure Daddy was equally as happy and buried them. I still have that gun.
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