Besides the rootin-tootin time my husband had shooting up my parent’s house, this past weekend was just full of events that I had to mentally file away under "potential blog post".
Friday night I was heading to our basement (basement of a newly constructed home, unfinished – just so you know it’s not a "cellar" or something like that – relevant) to do something irrelevant to this story. The steps go halfway before stopping at a landing, turning and more steps down. When I got to the landing I saw something at the bottom of the stairs sitting on a remnant of carpet. Here are some of the thoughts that ran quickly through my head:
- Did the dog poop down here? Oh wait, we don’t have a dog.
- Did a raccoon get in the house and poop? Naahhhhh.
- Did XBoy poop on the floor?! No way.
With those thoughts, you can get an idea of what I might have been looking at.
Then part of the "poop" moved.
(EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!) *me silently screaming*
I dashed back upstairs just as Mr. DD and XBoy were getting home. What do you think the first thing I did was?
I grabbed my camera, of course, and told Mr. DD to keep XBoy quiet and occupied.
I popped on the telephoto lense, headed to the landing and snapped a couple of pictures. Want to see? Well, you can’t because our good laptop is still under repair and this old one is like using dial-up even thought it’s not.
Then I went upstairs to tell Mr. DD to take care of the problem. Except he suddenly has a heart attack.
OK, he didn’t have a heart attack. It was a stupid case of indigestion that made him turn into a big pussy. (Get pregnant and then tell me what heart burn feels like, you ass).
I took the plastic bag out of his hands, put on my winter gloves (oh, shit, I just realized I wore them today and haven’t washed them – Ick!) and headed down the stairs again.
I should mention that these were baby mice, but they weren’t in a nest. There were no pieces of fabric or paper that indicates a nest. They were just all huddled together. I bent down and scooped up the cluster and one little fucker jumped and got away. The other three were dumped in the bag.
Another trip up the stairs with my prey. I stopped to let XBoy peer into the bag to see three tiny, furry mice trying to climb up the side of the bag,
pleading for mercy staring up at us with their cute beady black eyes.
Xboy asked what I was going to do with them. I told him that I was going to let them go outside. When he asked to come with me, I told him no and that it would only take a second. I felt like the cruelest person in the world as I tied off the bag and placed it inside the cold burn barrel.
Even worse? Later that night, Mr. DD went down to the basement and found the fourth baby mouse had returned to find his siblings, squeaking for them. He bagged that one, too, who found himself faced with a similar fate as the other three.
We both felt pretty sad about those little
vermin critters. That is until I realized there are at least two more mice running around. Sometimes, this prairie living is for the mice, deer, birds.