One of the things about living in the country, I am finding, is that other creatures live in the country also. That is nice when you are sitting at desk writing and look up to see a flock of wild turkeys land in the field next door, or hear a coyote on a winter’s night night or cows lowing on their way to the barn on a long pleasant summer evening.
Not so nice when they decide to move in.
I was away for a couple of weeks and got home to find that mice had taken up residence. I am somewhat of a squeamish sort, so with great reluctance decided I would have to get rid of them. I went to the hardware store and purchased several of those little wooden mouse traps. Several days passed while I worked up the courage to actually use them. I guess I hoped that if I showed them to the mice, they would take the hint and leave.
The other night I set two traps, baited with cheese. One went on the kitchen counter, and the other under the sink.
That night I even dreamt about the darn things.
I got up in the morning and went downstairs with much trepidation. The trap under the sink had not been sprung, but the cheese was missing. The trap on the counter had been sprung and the cheese was several feet away. No mice bodies, but to my horror, there was blood all over the floor! With little mice footprints running through it.
So I now have a half-decapitated mouse dying somewhere in my walls.
What’s this have to do with writing? Nothing. If you are looking for some writerly chat, I posed this week at Poe's Deadly Daughters about the origins of Winter of Secrets. http://poesdeadlydaughters.blogspot.com/2009/11/writing-without-net.html