In my opinion the problem with trying to write is picking material that appeals to the readers. Sadly this approach leaves out some readers. I'm very sorry that such is the case. It's not intentional by any means.

Most older houses in our area of Alabama were built high off the ground. Depending on the lay of the land you might be able to walk under most of house. Dogs really liked to "hole" up under these houses. Coon's, skunk's and snakes seemed to have a preference for under floor living as well. Luckily the dogs seemed to prevail. The exceptions were the rodents. Mice and rats seemed to be able to survive in spite of the dogs. The exception was when a Rat Terrier dog was around. These little "Rat Dogs" were killing machines where rats and mice were concerned. We had a little female "rat dog" named Trixie that had a reputation as a "ratter". Matter of fact I liked that dog so much that here fifty five years latter I have one just like her. Of course this one has never lived hard like her name sake. Never the less she makes a fine old persons dog. Totally useless but who's keeping score anyhow?

Well on with my "rat dog" tale. My grand paw liked to go on about that little "feist" dog. All the old timers called that breed "feist". Why I never learned. Grand paw would go to about anywhere to let the dog kill rats. We'd tried her with other dogs helping but she made it plain she wanted to work alone. Anyway, late one cold fall afternoon we wound up in Eldridge, Alabama at a big old house built high off the ground and supported on field stone pillars. The place was rough. Hard to believe anyone could live in such a place. One look at the owner and his son convince me that they, like my school classmate Ray Taylor, were trying to survive in a world that overwhelmed them in every way. The older of the two told us his name was Milton and that his boy was named Eugene. Well we put Trixie on the ground and she started hunting up the different entrances to the under ground tunnels that the rats had burrowed under the old house. Rats are smart in matters of survival. They sense that it's much safer and dryer under the old house but sooner or later they invade the house as well. Not a condition that acceptable  to the occupants.

Well Trixie found  five exit tunnels besides the one grand paw claimed was the main entrance. How he knew that was the entrance was another of those great unsolved mysteries. We set about plugging all the exit holes but the one farthest from the so called entry hole.  We sent the owners son to the last hole, telling him to cover the hole with a large flat rock and wait until we told him to remove the rock. We sent the owner to get us a big Mason jar full of water. Most people used some gas or old paper to stir up some smoke that hopefully would cause the rats to head for an exit. Most time the far exit was left open with the dog or dogs waiting there. Grand paw used a different twist it was called"Carbide". Carbide was common back then. Most every store sold it. It was a coal mining supply, the fuel for the ever present Coal Miners lamp. When you mix water with Carbide you get acetylene gas. Hard stuff for rats to breath in a closed tunnel. Wait about ten minutes and the dog wont need to work very hard to finish whats left.  

Carbide was so common that most of us really took it for granted and it was terribly mishandled. It was a very mean item and not the amusing little grey colored pebble it appeared to be. I was about to learn what not to do with Carbide. Grand paw poured about half a can of the stuff into the rat hole, he then dumped the contents of the Mason jar into the hole and laid a big flat rock over the hole. Grand paw, Milton, Trixie and me all backed off and waited. I looked under the old house and could see Eugene standing there and rolling a smoke. He packed that Bugler tobacco , rolled the paper, licked the glue strip and stuck the hand rolled in his mouth. He fumbled around in his overalls until he managed to find a "Blue Tip" match. Snap lit it with his thumb nail and fired that Bugler up. He pitch the lit match under the house and all "Hell" broke loose. The Carbide generated acetylene gas was making it's way to the surface of the ground. The lit match must have found a pocket of the stuff. There was a loud boom accompanied by a flash of dirty yellow flame. Dirt and other debris including luckless rodent parts flew in all directions. Trixie wet on me and broke free from my grasp. She run and hid under grand paws  old GMC pick up. We were lucky that the tunnels blew before enough pressure built up to turn  the big rocks that covered the escape holes into "Cannon Ball's". People started coming out of that old house like you never seen. Turns out there was, including Milton and Eugene, eleven people that lived in the old place. I remember all the kids were crying and smelled like Lifebuoy soap. My grand paw later commented on the fact that everyone had on new shoes. He said that the shoes and the being clean was a sign that Milton and his wife was  honorable people and doing the best they could. The house didn't receive much damage. I reckon the Lord gave us a pass on that one. This little adventure had been with my grand paw Cole. I never spent much time with him. Barely got to know him.

A sad "post script" to this story is that three months after the Rat hunt Milton's home burned with him and all his family inside, there were no survivors. The Johnson family was gone. The fire fighters said the entire family was in one room. Everyone just wrote Milton off as crazy and his family as victims. I'd met Milton and he wasn't that kind of crazy. I believe that Milton had struggled with his mental handicaps in our day to day world and decided he loved his family to much to see them endure the same hardships.