The Great Grain Heist: A Tale of Rodents, Rain, and Regret

Picture this: a serene Australian homestead, where kangaroos graze peacefully, kids frolic in the yard, and grain is stored with the noble intention of feeding wildlife. Enter stage left—the uninvited guests. Not the cute, wide-eyed kind, but the whiskered, tail-wagging, cord-gnawing kind. Yes, folks, the rodents have arrived, and they’re here to party.

Thanks to a winter of Noah’s Ark-level rains and a summer crop that could feed a small nation, the rodent population has exploded. It’s like a rodent Woodstock out there, and your grain storage is the main stage. The pitter-patter of tiny feet isn’t adorable when it’s followed by the sound of your electrical cords being turned into spaghetti.

Now, I’ve always had a soft spot for animals—all animals. But when I caught nine rats and six mice feasting from the kangaroo bowls like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet, I knew I had a problem. A quick Google search for humane rodent control methods led me down a rabbit hole (or should I say, a rat hole?) of traps: snap traps, live traps, electrocution traps. Spoiler alert: none of them are as humane as they sound.

Take, for instance, the lady I met at Bunnings. She was buying ten live traps and boasted about catching 30 mice per trap per night. Impressed, I naively asked, “Do you let them go again?” Her response? A Cruella de Vil-worthy cackle: “I drop them into water and watch them drown.” My neighbours, on the other hand, use live traps but lace the bait with poison before releasing the mice. Isn’t that like giving someone a sandwich and then pushing them off a cliff?

Determined to maintain some semblance of a moral compass, I invested in a “no-see, no-touch” RatSak trap. The promise was simple: the mouse enters, its neck breaks, and you dispose of the body without ever seeing or touching it. Easy, right? Wrong. My first attempt ended with me shaking the trap like a maraca, pulling on a stubborn mouse tail, and prying its tiny teeth off the bar. So much for no-see, no-touch.

These days, I’ve resorted to Racumin baits for the rats, with snap traps as backup. But even that isn’t foolproof. Just last week, I found a rat alive in the trap, valiantly trying to free itself. What followed was a grim game of “how many methods does it take to kill one rat?” Poison, snap trap, drowning—it was like a macabre episode of Survivor.

Managing a rodent population is a logistical nightmare, especially when you have pets, kids, and joeys to consider. It’s a battle of wits, morals, and sheer determination. And while I may have lost a bit of my soul along the way, I’ve gained a lifetime of stories—and a newfound respect for the resilience of rodents.

So, to anyone out there battling their own rodent invasion: may your traps be swift, your grain be safe, and your moral compass remain (mostly) intact.