When we thought we had bats at the fish camp, I insisted that my husband find someone to move the bats away from our dormer. I wanted the stink gone. So, he called. 

And called.

And called again.

Finally he found Trapper John, Wildlife guy.

Trapper and his helper came to investigate whether we had bats. His diagnosis. “Yes. You’ve got lots of bats. There’s guano for days up there.”

I tried not to wretch. The stench of it is bad enough, but the knowledge that there were lots of guano almost brought me to lose my lunch. 

He told us that he could come back and get the bats out by doing this and that. He paused, looked at my husband and I, and made a pronouncement. “You’re young and healthy enough. You can do this. Let me tell you how.”

We listened and realized that we could do it with the purchase of a tall ladder and some foam. With Trapper John’s expert advice, we got to work. Or, I should say, my husband got to work. Being highly sensitive to the odor of the bat guano, I ended up holding the ladder. 

There’s so much more to the story, but I don’t want to ruin a story that formed almost instantly in my head as my husband bathed himself in the yard due to guano exposure. It’s a perfect opening for another erotic romance. I feel like I making lemonade out of lemons. (I tried a bat guano into anything metaphor, but, y’all, that did not work.)

Until I get that story written, get a copy of Behaving Badly, a tale of a church secretary/night club singer and a sexy investigator. These two really heat up the page.