By: Angela Gillaspie © 2000-2005

My dad built the part-cedar, part-cinderblock, part-lumber, part-whazzit house I grew up in.

Being on a strict budget forced Daddy to make due with what he had on hand. Often, we had padding instead of carpet, knob-less doors, and naked electrical receptacles, cables, and ductwork because Daddy lacked the supplies to close them. In the twenty-one years that I lived in that house, it was (and still is) under construction.

Because of the irregular construction, we had many guests over the years. Some were even invited. Some stayed for a short while, but others hunkered down for years.

Folks that live in the country have their share of pests. But in my childhood home, there was an unbelievable collection of creeping, hopping, crawling, scampering critters, and critters capable of flight. We had a Southern safari and petting zoo.

There was a redheaded woodpecker that developed a taste for the cedar siding on our house. He pecked holes either looking for love or looking for grubs. You just know that Momma loved waking up in the morning with Ol' Red ratta-tatta-tatting by her head.

The most notorious animal to inhabit our country home was the squirrel. We don't know if the squirrels found Ol' Red's hole and chewed their way in or not, but they took up residence in our walls not too long after Ol' Red flew the coop. Having squirrels in the walls isn't for the faint-hearted because squirrels are active at night. You'd be dead asleep and then startle awake to the rustling, gnawing, and scampering of the squirrels as they did whatever squirrels do at 3 o'clock in the morning.

In addition to small mammals, insects made their way into the house either by one of the construction holes or by ... ahem ... accident. Once I accidentally let an entire bait jug full of crickets loose in the basement. Momma was mad because of the cricket music and I was disappointed because I lost my fishing bait. Also in the basement were those horrible camel crickets that seemed to jump out of nowhere when you turned on the light.

I could never use them for bait because I was afraid they would come back and devour me, making me destined to become a minor blood smear in a Stephen King novel.

The basement fireplace also served as a bird and bat refuge. Every now and then, a critter flew the wrong way and ended up in our basement. Armed with brooms and Alice Cooper 8-track tapes, we chased the unfortunate critters out the door.

We had well water instead of city water, and had a close encounter of the amphibian kind. One summer, the water started having a really bad smell. A week or so later Momma threatened Daddy, so he took the top off the well and peeked down into it and saw ...

Dead frogs.

He found lots and lots of dead frogs. Perhaps that's why the Cherokee Indians named my hometown "Cohutta" which translated means: "Frogs that Commit Suicide in Water Hole and Cause Stinky Water Place."

In addition to the various reptiles, flying creatures, and creepy critters, there were multitudes of animals inhabiting our country home at any given moment. Our family dog disappeared one time only to reappear under Momma's bed with four freshly squeezed puppies. The earthy smell of the new half-poodle half-Irish setter puppies paired with the new family of fleas nipping at our toes and gnats nipping at our noses almost drove my poor Momma to the loony bin.

Cats were our favorite pets to have around. At any given moment, there would be at least four cats sitting on the cars, trucks, lawnmower, or tractor. We would leave a huge bowl of cat food on the floor of the screened-in porch for our feline friends to wet their collective whiskers on. One night, I heard a cat munching the cat food and I decided that I would go out and pet her. As I reached down, she peered up at me.

Oh - my - gosh. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't scream. I tripped over the wheelbarrow as I tried to run away.

It wasn't a soft kitty as I thought it was but a ghost-faced possum. He hissed at me and then resumed crunching the cat food in its little narrow grinning mouth. I backpedaled into the house running into and knocking over things as I squealed all the way. Now I know first-hand what the phrase, "grinnin' like a 'possum" means.

Now I have my own family, and we live in a finished house on the edge of a suburban neighborhood. The oddest creatures we've found so far was either that creepy centipede that was crawling on the basement floor or the rubber snake that I found coiled in my dishwasher. There are no mice, frogs, goats, bats, birds, or squirrels migrating into my house.

I wonder if my kids are missing out from not living in the country and having the hands-on biology and construction lessons that I did. On the other hand, I am now a Mom and the thought of a snake under the television, a large hole in the sheet rock, a jug of crickets screeching through the night, and squirrels running amok in my walls puts an end to those thoughts. Besides, I can teach my children about grinnin' possums and other wildlife when we go and visit Momaw and Pappy. I just need to remember to bring a baseball bat and my sense of humor.

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