When you live in an old country house, you have to come to terms with dealing with wildlife of many sorts. One of the most common is the tiny mouse who is scurrying this time of year to find a warm place for a winter nest.

So I wasn’t totally unprepared to open the door this morning to see what the dog was barking at, to find a wee mousie cowering in the corner of the deck against the door jamb. My dogs are not mousers, but enjoy “playing” with all kinds of creatures and Wes was studiously barking at Farlow who was carefully watching the mouse.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

My first reaction was to protect the mouse from the larger animals. I spoke softly and reassuringly to it. (Burns and I anthropomorphize with the best.)

Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murdering pattle.

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An’ fellow mortal!

The mouse seemed hurt in some way, although I couldn’t see anything physically wrong with it. It turned in circles and pattered about the porch mat. It turned to my voice and started to come up over the doorstep. As gently as possible, I brushed it off. It rolled and went under the deck for a few seconds before reappearing.

I brought the dogs inside and closed the door, hoping that the mouse would make a getaway if its perceived obstacles were removed. I opened the door 20 minutes later to find it still there.

Here I must confess that I detest to see anything suffer. I wanted to pick up the wee mousie and “make it feel better”. One of the dogs playfully picked it up in his mouth and then dropped it. When the creature sat as if nothing had happened, I knew I had to take action and put it out of its present-and-yet-to-come misery.

I pictured hitting it with a shovel. I cringed. Anyway, the only implement on the deck was a corn broom. I pictured cartoon ladies chasing mice. They never actually killed any mice – likely because broom was too soft. I couldn’t chance not finishing it with the first blow.

Around the corner lay the BONE, a two foot cow bone that the dogs have been chewing on for months. It’s heavy but it’s moldy and disgusting.

But the entire task was disgusting, so I picked up the bone, got the mouse in my sights and struck. On the first hit, the mouse flew up into the air about six inches and fell back. I imagined a stunned & recriminating look on its face and I struck again. And again. And again. I wanted to see guts or brains – something to be sure that it was really dead. Leaving something half-dead to suffer is the thing of nightmares.

It was over in seconds and as I washed my hands, I cried. This never happened in the city.

The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Technorati Tags: Tae a mouse, to a mouse, robert burns, killing mice, country living