"All the news that's fit to print about fighting Terrorism with Vigilance!"




Cliff McKenzie, Editor

GROUND ZERO PLUS 1325 DAY--New York, NY, Thursday, April 29, 2005--Our house is empty of a four-pound Terror Hunter.

We are now at the mercy of four-ounce mice.

We are now at the mercy of four-ounce mice

Sammy, our daughter and son-in-law's teacup Yorkshire Terrier, left a couple of days ago after spending two weeks in our East Village fifth-floor walk up.

He normally lives in the Bronx, about a 45-minute subway ride away to the end of line on the 1 Train. When he comes to the East Village, he's gun shy at first because the sidwalks are jammed with people and street sweepers sneak up and startle him with their whirring brushes and gunning gears.

Our daughter and her hubby went to Italy for a vacation that coincided with the death of one Pope and the election of another. Our mission was to guard and protect Sammy--all four pounds of him.

We were vigilant because his buddy, Jake, the second Yorkie in the family, was murdered by a 95-pound Rottweiler earlier in the year. We didn't want anything to happen to Sammy on our watch.

Jake, Sammy's 'brother' was murdered by a Rottweiler

While concentrating our efforts on protecting Sammy from street sweepers, Pit Bulls and other large, hungry New York street dogs, we neglected to be alert to the internal danger of mice--rats and other New York vermin that haunt almost every apartment dweller in this city where buildings stand a hundred plus years old.

The mice and rats own this city, as they do any urban community. Humans vaingloriously battle them, but no matter how much one tries to expunge them, they gnaw their way back into your life, or the next tenants', or their children or great grandchildren. After all, the mice and rats predate humans and will be here long after we've wiped ourselves off the face the earth.

Sammy, we forgot, wasn't just a cute little sixty-four ounce dog everyone oohed and ahhed over when we walked him about the city, or tucked him in the carry bag where his curly golden haired head peeked out and his wee black snout nervously sniffed the air. He was a Sentinel of Vigilance when it came to rats and mice.

Yorkies, we found after scouring the web for information on their history, were bred as "ratters."

The English probably gave up on cats as we have. They elected to breed dogs to kill rats and mice.

Imagine a beautiful Yorkie teacup strutting into your living room holding the mangled body of a rat or mouse in his glistening fangs, waiting for you to pat his fluffy flaxen head and coo, "Good, Sammy...you got a nasty, ugly, bubonic-plague-ridden rat...what a wonderful puppy."

Then you wipe the blood off his grinning face and he leaps up into your lap and gives you a big lick on your face....ugggggghhhh....

Proof of Sammy's vigilance came after he left

Well, it seemed oxymoronic that such a lovely, friendly, almost cartoonish type dog would in fact ferret out the vile vermon of a household, but then when you are desperate to protect your children and family from creatures of the night who rule the dark with beady eyes and flicking whiskers as they stick their snouts into your food, you would sic anything on them to sleep in peace and quiet knowing the Rodent Terrorists were being held at bay.

My wife and I didn't realize that Sammy was indeed holding the mice in frozen fear when he was visiting. Proof of his vigilance came after he left.

Like the people in England, we have a cat. He's about nine pounds and thinks he's human. He constantly meows for food and attention, but, he never goes after a mouse. A mouse could run over his head and he'd probably not blink an eye.

That means we battle the mice with all kinds of traps--glue one, baited ones, metal traps and even bags of poison tucked behind the refrigerator and stove. Like any New Yorker we knew about stuffing steel wool in any opening, hoping that the mice would consider it barbed wire and do a turn-around and head to our neighbors' apartments.

We even had a special exterminator come and lay booby traps everywhere.

A four pound Terror Hunter kept the rodents at bay

Nothing works.

Except Sammy.

When our daughter came back and took Sammy from us, of course we missed him. He was such a cute little guy.

But a day after he was gone, there the evidence was--rodent droppings on the stove.

We really hadn't noticed the absence of signs of mice until their excrement suddenly appeared following Sammy's departure.

"Sammy....where are you?"

"Aha," we decided, "the mice had taken a hike because Sammy's tiny feet must have sounded like Nazi goosesteps to the children, mothers, fathers and grandparents of all the mice who thought they might feast for free at our house.

"Beware," they must have squeaked, "the McKenzie's have a Yorkie ratter. Let's lay low for a couple of weeks. No reason to take chances. We'll eat out at the neighbors for a while."

Well, sadly we're back to being haunted by the mice.

Our Sentinel of Rodent Vigilance is happily at his home in the Bronx.

We're sleeping with one eye open.

"Sammy...Sammy...where are you?"


Go To April 16 Story: "The Vigilance Tax"



» leave your thoughts about this story in our Guest Book


©2001 - 2005, VigilanceVoice.com, All rights reserved -  a ((HYYPE)) design

Your contributions are needed to support the VigilanceVoice. Send $1 or more, either through PayPal below, or in cash or check. You can also help by investing in a local ad in your community paper promoting the Principles of Vigilance and how to overcome Emotional Terrorism. Go to Donation Page For More Information
Solution Graphics