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2/26/2009 3:33 AM

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For 12 decades, our house has been a sanctuary for homeless field mice. They infested the walls, the chimneys, the attic and basement; this fall, they decided to move into the greenhouse and studio as well.

Friends suggested a solution called Riddex.

Guess what?

It worked.

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The boss got on the Internet (www.shoptvproducts.com), ordered a few of the devices and waited patiently by the mailbox as a herd of munching vermin destroyed the last of her greenhouse seedlings.

In a few days a box arrived. Inside were three TV remote-sized boxes. "Just plug the units into electrical outlets," the instructions read, and the "technology" starts working by "altering the normal field around your wiring, creating an environment that aids in control of rodents".

I'm not a pitchman. It's not my life's desire to become the next Billy Mays. I must admit, however, that this particular product did exactly what it promised.

It chased the mice away.

But what, exactly, does it actually do?

I don't know. After last year's accidental garage explosion (and subsequent plastic surgery) I promised to refrain from taking things apart just to find out what's inside.

Your golf balls are finally safe, Dad.

I believe Riddex must emit something, a sound, perhaps - a sound so sickeningly sweet that all living creatures run for the hills.

Could it be Barry Manilow?

For those of you who have grown up in the modern era protected by the government-instituted Barry Manilow Safe Zones, a quick reminder of what kind of evil power the former jingle writer-turned Vegas troubadour wielded in his prime.

It is written that once a boy's car radio broke and he was unable to switch stations. The local "Lite Rock" station was running a Barry Manilow Weekend. After hearing "I Can't Smile Without You" for the fourth time in two days, that boy tore his own ears from his head.

At least that's what I heard.

I have no proof that Riddex uses Barry Manilow's music to chase mice. It's only a theory. But think about it - would you stay in a house where the electric system emits a constant loop of "Weekend in New England," "Mandy" and "He's a Pepper, She's a Pepper, Wouldn't You Like to Be a Pepper, Too?"

Thank you, Riddex.

No longer do we have a greenhouse full of nibbled plants. My wife's life work, her watercolor paintings, are no longer sprinkled with mouse droppings. I don't have to turn the television up loud on Tuesday nights so I can hear "Dancing with the Forgotten B-List Rehab Celebrities" over the scrabble of wall mice.

I don't know how you did it, but you've built a better mousetrap.

Sort of.

There is that one small drawback.

Lately, late at night, just as I'm about to fall asleep, my head perched on a pillow somewhere near a wall outlet, I have been dozing off to the faint sound of singing.

Soft, cheesy singing.

"Down at the Copa ... Copacabana ..."

To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3-7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.

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