Serenaded by strays, speeding stallions and squirrel wars

As I sit in my home, serenaded by the relentless, off-key meows of Harrington’s band of “aristocats”, I can’t help but wonder if the cats have officially claimed the town. 

My neighbor and I have spent countless text exchanges brainstorming ways to curb our new, uninvited guests. 

Should we plant a catnip (cat-cannabis) field out in the sticks to lure them into a blissful utopia? Perhaps. Do not take me seriously. 

But it did send me down a rabbit hole—or, more accurately, a cat hole—of Lincoln County’s historical ordinances.

While researching, I stumbled across a headline from The Times-Tribune dated Thursday, March 26, 1925, that read: "Edwall Club Plans War on Squirrels." 

The article detailed how the local co-operative club ordered a full ton of cyanide for farmers to wage an all-out battle against the notorious big red squirrels. 

Now, let me be very clear: I am NOT suggesting a campaign against Harrington’s feline residents. 

However, this did get me thinking about how communities of the past tackled their animal-related issues—and let’s just say, they got creative.

Take Davenport, for example. On February 6, 1925, M. F. Van Hook, the county game warden, issued a 10-cent bounty on magpies. 

Residents had to submit an affidavit confirming the birds were indeed killed within Lincoln County. 

While I’m not advocating for a bounty system for our current cat dilemma, it’s interesting how previous generations addressed their wildlife concerns.

Davenport also had some… intriguing ordinances regarding animals. 

For instance, it was illegal to breed stallions in public view. According to city law, any such activity had to be wholly enclosed by a tall, tight board fence to ensure that passersby were spared from such an "inappropriate" spectacle. 

Meanwhile, a strict speed limit was imposed on horseback riders, prohibiting them from trotting, galloping, or riding at speeds exceeding seven miles per hour. 

In contrast, today’s Davenport sits along a highway notorious for speeding and reckless driving. 

Maybe we should go back to horseback riding? In my opinion, everyone can pull off a good pair of chaps; there goes the clashing outfit problem, too. Please wear chaps appropriately so it is not such a spectacle.  

And then there’s the spitting ordinance. 

According to Davenport’s laws, "No person shall expectorate on the floor of any public conveyance, public building, or any sidewalk within the city limits." 

In simpler terms: no spitting on the ground. 

Now, I’d love to see someone try to enforce this against a seasoned Lincoln County cowboy with a mouthful of sunflower seeds, peanuts, or chewing tobacco.

Lincoln County is a goldmine of historical oddities when it comes to laws and ordinances. 

While many of these rules have long since been forgotten or ignored, they offer a glimpse into a time when communities tackled their problems—be they squirrels, speeding horses, or magpie infestations—with a mix of determination and some, let’s say, unconventional strategies.

So, as I listen to the increasingly dramatic meows outside my door, I continue to ponder—how can we take inspiration from these historic ordinances to develop modern solutions? 

Until then, I’ll be over here researching the feasibility of that catnip field. 

Again, do not take me seriously. Or do. 

Either way, the cats aren’t leaving anytime soon.