IT was quite quiet in the pub but the Three Stooges were in, propping up the bar.

Sitting between Ivan and Rog the Retired (temp), we were talking about a business Ivan had years ago, breeding exotic birds.

Funnily enough, the site on the edge of the village was called (and still is) The Aviary, in a rare burst of innovation.

As is often the case with these sorts of enterprises, rats were a common problem, picking up the spilt bird seed. Something had to be done.

Ivan, in a moment of madness, employed a local rat catcher to solve his problems - Rog, or, as he was known at the time, Rog the Ratter, a short-lived career.

At this point, our operative was less concerned about rat welfare as rat extermination.

Ivan explained that he wasn’t too concerned at the time as to the niceties of the methodologies used. Which is just as well, as Rog preferred the back of a spade and a loud thwack.

This was all well and good until… wait for it... Ivan’s pet hamster was out for a stroll and met Rog. Thwack.

To be fair, Rog offered words of comfort - “at least you won’t have to feed it anymore”, before retrieving the flattened creature and giving it a nice burial. Handy thing, a spade.

Of course, this is now a great story and even Ivan recovered but I think I need to try to keep Rog’s new career selection on a more mechanical track. Driving something will be ideal.

To that end, we are now embarking on a regular long moorland walk to keep Rog busy and improve fitness. We’re both looking forward to it but I’ll make sure he gets a walking stick and leaves his spade at home. What can possibly go wrong?

• Fred Knobbit is a nature blogger. He grew up in the Pennines in Lancashire on the edge of an industrial town but is now safely in Cornwall. You can read his archive at www.bodminblogger.com