Tales of the Intrepid Mouse Hunter


So this morning Becky went downstairs to let Cinnamon out for her morning business, and the big 40 pound bag of dogfood shook and made noises and scared the bejeebers out of her. Mouse inside. Or maybe jumping off. Whatever. Becky didn’t like it. Tonight I went down and set out five standard traps and four boxes of d-Con at strategic locations where Cinnamon couldn’t get at them. Just made it back up to the top of the stairs when Clack! Score one for Mouse Hunter.

Lest anyone decry the senseless and inhumane slaughter of these cute little denizens of God’s kingdom, let me just say that we had no takers on the ads we ran during the last invasion, seeking sensitive mouse catchers to collect them up in a humane and painless fashion and relocate them to an environmentally friendly habitat. All we succeeded in doing was generating a heated debate about whether it was humane to abandon domesticated mice in a natural habitat where, deprived through no fault of their own of normal development of defensive behaviors, they would fall easy and unsportsmanlike prey to predators if, indeed, they did not starve first for want of foraging skills in a non-man-made domain. Who knows how long the picketing factions would have scowled and hurled epithets at each other on Lazy Brook Lane if the fellow down on Brush Creek hadn’t been spotted gouging into the gopher runs in his back yard, pitch fork in one hand and baseball bat in the other. Apparently, skewered and battered gopher is more tantalizing than garroted mouse.

:coonskincap:

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