The Mice Murders, part 2

If you have not yet read part one, please click here and start with part one.  Thanks!

As I was moving a log to position it correctly for cutting, a 4 headed, 16 footed, multi-whiskered fiend jumped straight out at me.  I know I said it had 12 feet yesterday.  It didn't actually grow 4 feet overnight.  I had just miscalculated my mice math.

As I jumped back out of the way, I sat the the chainsaw down as quickly as possible.  While the temptation to create a mouse version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre (maybe The Mouseketeer Massacre?) was enticing, I weighed my options and settled on the side of safety.

As I stood back up the mouse thing started scurrying along one of the logs.  Except it was not able to scurry very well. 

And the reason made me feel almost sorry for the mouse.  Yes, me, the self-proclaimed hater of all rascally rodents.

The 4 headed creature was actually a momma mouse nursing 3 babies.  But not little 'pinkie' mice.  These babies were about 1/3 - 1/2 the size of their momma.

And they were hanging on to their momma with nothing but their mouths on her nipples.  Yes, she was literally dragging three babies across the log with nothing to transport them but their mouths chomping down on her nipples.

While I have never personally nursed a baby, I understand that it can be quite painful if the baby gets a little over-ambitious while nursing. 

Even I felt bad for this momma mouse.

That being said, I quickly assessed the situation, picked up a metal grounding rod lying nearby and tried to impale my new-found enemies.  While this seemed like a good idea in theory, actual usage proved otherwise.  The point of the rod was too narrow and the rod was too heavy to really be effective.  I chased the momma mouse under a few small pieces of wood.  One of her babies finally lost it's hold on her.  I chased her under an empty planter bucket.  I missed her again, but another of her babies dropped off.  Finally, as I picked up a 2 foot section of 2x4 for my next weapon of choice, she ran straight at me. 

Without even having much time to think about it, I lifted my foot, and stomped down.  Hard.  She was met with a quick and painless death.

In retrospect, I think she may have actually known what was coming and was willing to do anything just to make the pain from her overly gnawed nipples to go away.

I was more than happy to oblige her.

Next, I had to consider what to do with the three baby mice.  I think they would have probably died, but they were big enough, I was not sure.  Plus, I didn't want to see them starve to death, or if they were big enough, I did not want to see them grow up and later invade my house.

So, I took care of them quickly and painlessly.

While I get no joy from dispatching death to my furry friends, I am not willing to sacrifice my home or well-being for theirs.  I already received one comment on my first post about the sometimes deadly consequences of dealing with mice.

I'm just not willing to take that chance with my family.

What about you?  Do you think I did the right thing?  Why or why not?  Do you have any stories about how rodents have impacted your life?

I Used To Hate Camping!

This is my memory of Rachael's post Nursing Under Cover.



I can remember it now, just as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

We're sitting in a nice restaurant. Everyone is hungry. Everyone is talking. Everyone looks like what you would expect to see when a family goes out to dinner.

Except Rachael.

The waiter comes over close to our tables, but always seems to hesitate and then head the other direction at the last minute. You can tell that he's just not quite sure of what to make of the spectacle now sitting before his eyes.

He looks around the room just to be sure that he's still in his restaurant.

Not at Yosemite.
Not at Yellowstone.
Not in the Great Outdoors.

And yet there is a tent sitting at his table waiting to be served. He looks around as if to say, 'Where did this tent come from? I'm pretty sure it wasn't here when I just walked out of the room to the kitchen."

It takes him a few minutes, but he finally realizes that the tent waiting to eat is actually a human being sitting at the table with a blanket pulled completely over their head. Kind of like an advanced form of whatever it was that Linus from Peanuts had.

And when I say advanced, I am speaking more in the sense that a horrible disease is called 'advanced' right before it debilitates you.


It's the first time he's ever met my wife, Rachael.


He tentatively approaches and hesitates before speaking to me.

"Is everything OK sir?"

At this point I can tell that he is considering the options for what is going on at his table. It appears that he has narrowed it down to three possibilities:

1. The person under the blanket is very, very afraid of food and the mere sight of it may make her scream.
2. The person under the blanket has some very raunchy breath and wants to ensure no one else has to suffer through their halitosis.
3. The person under the blanket is clearly clinically insane, and their insanity is quite advanced.

As I look into his eyes, I quickly realize he has opted for option number 3.


I try to ease his mind.


"It's OK. She's fine. She's just nursing."

The transition is quite fascinating to behold.

The waiter first appears to be relieved that he is not going to be attacked by a clinically insane, halitosis wielding mad-man that is afraid of food.

Then he realizes what he just heard.

"She's just nursing?"

He says this as if it is the first time in his life he has ever seen someone set up their own tent just so they could nurse their baby at a restaurant.

Really! He needs to get out more.
Meanwhile, I'm left to fend for myself as everyone in close proximity is slowly sliding away from me at the table.

Apparently, my fire-red embarrassed face is throwing off more heat than the air conditioning can handle.

At this point, I'm tempted to crawl into the tent with Rachael, just so I won't have to show my face. The only thing that stops me is thinking about the reaction of the waiter when he comes out to our table the next time and finds me missing. Of course, he will have his manager in tow:

"Um, sir, this is what I was telling you about. Uh Oh, it looks like we lost another one. I sincerely recommend that we remove this tent from the inside of our restaurant before it swallows any more of our patrons."


OK, OK, so that is probably not what would happen, but I have a hard time thinking when my head is on fire and beet red!

So, I do the one thing that I have tried hard to learn to do well.
I simply try my best to pretend that everything is fine.....


And then I start talking to a tent.


**If you enjoyed this post, be sure to click the 'follow' tab and check out the other stories for other family-friendly humorous material.  Hope you enjoy!   Click the 'share' button to share with your friends. Thanks! -The Poor Husband**