FLYING AROUD THE FARLEIGHS WITH RAY MORRIS
COMING TO A GARDEN NEAR YOU...
Rats. That’s if they are not already there.
We moved to East Farleigh in 1982 and, apart from a young rat found drowned in a bucket of water many years ago, I assumed us to be rat-free. Perhaps this was because I remained in gainful employment until about ten years ago, so spent much of my daily time away from the garden and was unable to see what was going on
But of late Rattus norvegicus has become an increasing part of our daily life. They first materialised after one of the named winter storms a few years ago. My assumption was that one of the locally uprooted trees had destroyed an underground rodent metropolis and the refugees did what refugees do when their cities are destroyed by forces beyond their comprehension, they looked for somewhere relatively safe and where they are unlikely to starve. Welcome to my garden.
The food put out for the birds was an early target. Anything falling to the ground was fair game. An occasional glimpse in daylight told us they were there, but I imagine they turned out in larger numbers to sweep up at night. On reflection, that’s probably a useful service they’re providing. Food left on the ground is likely to be contaminated with bird droppings from above and, worse still, carrying the regular pathogens - salmonella, e-coli - that can be fatal to birds as well as us. So perhaps not such a problem after all.
Until, that is, our stored apples became a target too. We’ve always had the occasional mouse in our garage, and an exploratory nibble in an apple or potato is part of the price we pay for the pleasure of living with wildlife. But Ratty was now abusing his welcome as my winter breakfast of Bramley apple stewed with frozen local blackberries was seriously threatened. Rat-sized holes started to appear in rigid plastic containers. Although their antics captured on an infra-red camera provided limited entertainment, and even grudging admiration for their persistence, it had to stop.
The spotless white van on the drive proclaimed the latest and most effective pest control service. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Ratty couldn’t read it, that the tricks of the trade boasted by the former training manager of a well known pest control company hasn’t resulted in poisoned bait being taken, or a hapless corpse found with its tail poking lifeless from a trap in a tube.
It being summer (most weeks) means our garden co-habitant doesn’t need to raid the garage now - the Bramleys have long since been eaten, and tinned baked beans are clearly a challenge too far, even for the sharpest of incisors. I’ve stopped feeding the birds, so there is literally no crumb of comfort there for them. Perhaps the growing fox family being raised in the overgrown patch next door is being nourished with fresh rat meat?
What about the birds though? Feeding birds in gardens is a practice coming under increasing scrutiny by ecologists. There is good scientific evidence that it is beneficial for some species, even in summer. Now, there is equally sound evidence emerging demonstrating that it has a negative impact on others. What to do?
All I can say is that the number of species in my garden appears not to be significantly fewer without my largesse. In summer of course, birdsong coming through open doors and windows helps give away their presence. But is Ratty pushing me down a path to some ornithological enlightenment? Could I even become grateful for him forcing me to rethink what I think I know? Only time will tell.
That assumes, of course, an undiminished supply of stewed blackberry and apple for breakfast. Otherwise, this impartial observer of the ecological interplay between species in my garden will be forced to ask the white van man for a second, more determined visit.