Warning: Rated R for grossness.
Hickory dickory dock, a mouse really ran up our clock. We have a serious mouse problem and I need…
I stopped in mid sentence because, really and truly, at that moment a mouse ran right over my foot as I was posting. It was 3:00 a.m., dark, and it freaked me out a bit. Chuck was surprised he didn’t hear me scream. I reserve the scream for dead mice. Like the other night when I went into the garage to refill Gracee’s dog food container from the huge sack. I saw a stick poking up out of the container and pulled it out. No stick there, it was the stiff tail of a dead mouse still attached to its mummified in dog food preservative body. I simultaneously screamed and threw the containerful of dog food across the garage floor.
Here’s another vermin story worthy of a scream. Years back we lived on a remote island during the summers while Chuck was employed as an executive director of a church camp. While the babies were napping I was in lying in the sun, half asleep. Feeling a tickle in the hollow underneath my knees, I very quickly came to when I realized the tickle was a good sized garter snake slithering under my knees.
OK, enough of that. What can I do for the mouse problem? I don’t want to use poison because of the dog. We have those ultrasonic plug in devices that supposed to give the mice mini migraines and keep them away. Right. I’m sorry to say that live traps don’t do anything to solve the problem; it’s just a vicious cycle of catch and release. We have the equivalent of a cat in Gracee, the great white hunter, who killed two this week so far. I thought the mice would stay away when they whiffed a predator in their midst. I was wrong. Once again, I appreciate the advice of my fellow bloggers, bloggerless readers and lurkers.
I know you’re reading this for knitting content, so here is the progress on Elina’s shawl:


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