The other night three bats flew by at dusk. I couldn't hear them, which was really too bad. When we lived in Haverhill, the neighborhood was filled with bats and I had found quite a variety of bat houses I was hoping to order off the internet. Alas, we didn't live there long enough for me to establish the bat village I imagined for our back yard. Plus, Marty hated the whole idea.
Bats really freak me out but I also find them fascinating. When I lived in a third story apartment in Grand Rapids in my 20's, a bat got into the living room. We tried to get it out by taking screens off windows and using brooms to chase it away. Mostly it flew about frantically and then hung upside down from the draperies. I was sharing the apartment with a guy at the time who was just as unglued by bats as I was but he didn't want to ask for help because of looking like a wuss. So I called the police. The dispatcher was very sympathetic and said she would send someone right over but wouldn't tell him why. That, she said, would be my job. When I asked her how come, she said cops are terrified of bats like everyone else, and she wouldn't be able to get them to do it if they knew ahead of time.
So, when this car pulled up in front of the house, I went down to the sidewalk to introduce myself. I tried to be as flattering and helpless as possible and coax him by implying he must be a very courageous officer of the law. He said he was calling for back-up and they would give it five minutes. If they weren't successful, they were going to leave.
It was quite a show once they got into it. They couldn't bear to fail, plus having another guy around ramped up their macho factor substantially. I had hoped throughout this ordeal that the bat would glide peacefully out the window into the dark of the night never to return. Instead, we eventually heard a loud thump made by a broom and one of the officers asked for a brown paper bag and where the outside trash can was. I have always felt vaguely guilty about the little critter's demise. As they were leaving, they asked me how I had gotten dispatch to send them and I confessed that I had participated in some duplicity to get them there. "Well, it's a good thing you did", one of them said. "I'd rather face a guy with a gun anytime." I lavished them with praise and offered them a beer but they were too honor-bound to accept.
My only other up-close bat experience took place with my little niece, Mary Elizabeth. We were on a church retreat, sharing a bunk bed and she threw up on me and all over the bed at 2 in the morning. I still can't believe no one else in the cabin, all adults, offered to help. It's not like they couldn't hear or smell us. I lugged her and all the stuff up to the bathhouse and cleaned her up as best I could. Then, not sure if she was contagious, I remembered one of the buildings with a vacant floor so we hiked over there and tucked ourselves in.
Our room was right under the eves of an old barny-style lodge and in between the ceiling and the roof there must have been at least three thousand bats carrying on. I could hear every one of them scratching, squealing, and fluttering in and out throughout the night. I finally fell asleep at day break when they quieted down and went to sleep themselves.
For some reason, I am glad to know that we have bat neighbors in Sheepscot Village. It makes the place seem more natural, and more eerie. And thankfully we have plenty of room for bat houses.
