My family in Ohio lived in a small house on a good chunk of land. Acres and acres really. They were big into golf and would use the land behind the house as a kind of driving range. Balls would go deep into the woods and as a kid, I was more into searching the forest floor for balls than actually swinging a club. Anyway. One time Dad and Grandpa were out in the back of the house just past the patio with a bucket of balls. I was near by doing whatever when all of a sudden this small grey thing enters my field of vision. It's a rat and it's running straight toward Grandpa. I mean this thing is flying. It gets closer and closer until it runs right up his leg. But he has a pair of trousers on and it doesn't run up on the outside of his clothing but in-between his pants and his skin! Those claws are sharp and he winces a bit. So once the creature reaches his thigh, where the fabric is tighter to the skin, it doesn't really know where to go. What does Grandpa do but grab the rodent from the outside of his clothing and squeeze. He kills it with his bare hand. His fist shakes like when you tense your muscles up and blood begins to drip down his leg. I could see red rat blood seeping into his white socks. He shakes his leg to let the dead rodent tumble out and kicks it to the side. Looks around, shakes his head, and tees up.