Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Have you seen a mouse with a woffelly nose?

Sister Kathy came for a visit last week bearing gifts. She handed me a bag with a tag that read: Hope these are the only mice to be found at Farm Dover (or something like that). Inside were two adorable cast iron mice that have already made numerous appearances on our cheese board. Cute. Yes?

Flash forward to this afternoon when I decided it was high time to take the straw off my strawberry plants. I was scooping up big handfuls of straw when all of sudden I realized that underneath my last handful was a soft bed of fur with some little critters moving around in it. Turns out it was a nest with six little mice (almost big enough to be on their own, with no sign of mama mouse). Cute. Yes?

I called to Ed who came down with a bucket and shovel and suggested that he could simply smash them! Afterall, we have traps set in the garage, basement, and cottage and have had our share of mice-eaten car wires. "No. No," I screamed.  "I'll take them away from the house and get them relocated in a nice bunch of hay in the back field." Which I did, and they seemed happy enough, although I'm sure their mama is distraught.

I think I have fond thoughts for mice because of three memories from my childhood:
1) When I was in first grade I had imaginary mice that lived in my pockets. Their names were Eencie and Meencie. They were great company.
2) My Uncle Bud gave me a little stuffed mouse that seemed to have real fur and held a kernal of corn in it's paws. I loved it dearly.
3) My favorite book of poems was "The World of Christopher Robin" and in Missing, Christopher Robin lost his dear little brown mouse. I felt so bad for him.
Has anybody seen my mouse?
I opened his box for half a minute,

Just to make sure he was really in it,
And while I was looking, he jumped outside!
I tried to catch him, I tried, I tried....
I think he's somewhere about the house.
Has anyone seen my mouse?
Uncle John, have you seen my mouse?

Just a small sort of mouse, a dear little brown one,

He came from the country, he wasn't a town one,
So he'll feel all lonely in a London street;
Why, what could he possibly find to eat?
He must be somewhere. I'll ask Aunt Rose:
Have you seen a mouse with a woffelly nose?
He's just got out...
Hasn't anybody seen my mouse?    

-- A. A. Milne


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