I think I have mentioned this before, but it's worth the retelling.
When he retired from teaching my dad expanded his poultry hobby into a small business, from a dozen hens in the garden just to keep the family in eggs to up to 200 hens in 2 houses. There was, of course, a lot of chicken shit and quite a store of food for them. One afternoon he noticed a rat disappear into a hole in a dung heap. He looked down the hole and could see a pair of eyes looking back at him. He called me (I think I was on holiday from college) and we alerted the dog. I gathered my cricket bat on the way and he turned the dung heap over with his fork. In the next half-hour the dog and I had killed 21 rats and I reckon that at least as many had escaped.
I have a photograph somewhere of me in cricket whites, leaning on my bat, with a dog and 21 dead rats spread out in front of us.