Time Waits for No Tweet, or, The Taming of the Shrew

So I've not kept up with my blog. And I was so proud of myself for a solid start. Sigh. I don't have time to tweet, poke, blog...I'm failing my technology. Ah, well...an update a few times a month is probably more my style. Everyone can officially lower their expectations of me now.

Here's my happy for the day (or at least a little funny)...

My Adventures in the Country, Part 1: Taming of the Shrew

First, our birdseed drew in the mice (into our garage). We set traps, caught the whole happy little family.
Sad day for mice. But our traps were probably more humane than what would have happened if Nixie or Hayley ever noticed them.

Anyway, so yesterday morning we hear a scream from the downstairs, where the garage in question is, as well as my mom's walk-out apartment. The reason for the scream is the baby mouse she sees running from under her bed. So, in keeping with the traditions of strong, brave women in our family--she proceeds to scream, while beating wildly at it with her shoe. A plaid house shoe, I believe.

She then runs upstairs to ask for my help--apparently the mouse is unconscious, but breathing. So I go and get a sack. Okay three plastic bags, used to fashion a glove, and a big paper bag. Must not be too careful. We safely bag the mouse, thinking it's not unconscious, but actually dead.

We had a nagging doubt, though. This baby mouse didn't look much like the other mice we caught. So I went to my husband, bag in hand. He opened the bags, and low and behold, there was a live, uninjured SHREW prancing around in the paper bag. A baby shrew, no less. Suddenly we pronounced the former pest adorable (it really was quite cute, scurrying around the bag like it was happy with a new home, or just happy not to be presented with any more plaid footwear). So glad it wasn't dead, we decided to save it, and let it go at the creek behind our house. So it can breed more shrews to invade our house, I'm sure.

And what didn't occur to me until later, was the fact that shrews are actually carnivorous. If the birdseed didn't draw it in, what did? And where, oh where, are its parents? I must say, country living is not for the fainthearted!


  1. I pronounce this Happy Shrewsday for all shrews that have been mistaken for a mouse & yet survived!!!

  2. OH - your blog does bring a smile to my face! Even if you can't write but a few times a month... it seems I only have time to read at just that pace! Love your writing!