Happy Birthday?

Last night I found mouse droppings in the cabinet.

This is, of course, disgusting.

However, this is rural Oklahoma and we do tend to get one or two of the horrifying, vermin-ridden creatures when the weather turns warm.

What really bothers me is the fact that we have a CAT for the love of heaven, not to mention 2 dogs. And although Sassypants isn’t much of a hunter, Bubba is a serial squirderer AND a birderer.  Why, why WHY am I the one who has to find and deal with a mouse in the house?

And by “deal with” I obviously mean scream at Opie to do something.

The long and the short of it is, we pulled everything out of the cabinet and set traps before we went to bed last night.

On a slightly related note, I’m curious if anyone in the history of mankind has ever caught a mouse in one of the humane, catch and release, cost about 10 times more than the snap trap type traps? Every single time we have had a mouse, I have put those things out loaded to the gills with peanut butter, and every single time the mouse has chosen to run over the snap trap instead.

The mice are clearly suicidal.

In any case, the point of this whole drama is that today is Opie’s birthday and he took the day off work. And, it is interesting to note, starting your morning listening to your wife scream about dead mice in the cabinets and then being forced to remove the mouse carcass amid more shrieking before you are allowed any coffee is, apparently, NOT a good start to your birthday celebrations.

Though he seems happy enough now....hmmmm...wondering if he spiked his coffee when my back was turned….

Mouse? What mouse? I don't see no stinkin' mouse in here.

From Squirrderer to Birderer...The Bub Strikes Again

As many of you know, a few weeks ago Bubba killed not one but TWO squirrels (you can read about THAT nightmare here).

Today he upped the ante by killing a bird.

On the bright side, he learned from my last bout of hysterics and did NOT bring it to me.

Nor did he bury it in my garden.

He ATE it.

In spite of the fact that I was screaming "No! Stop it! For the love of God, PUT THE  BIRD DOWN!" He just wagged his tail, happier than a pig in poo, and crunched down again.  Which is when I got a good look at the mutilated mess in his maw.

I would like to report that I heroically tackled the Bub at this point, miraculously saved the bird, and we all lived in Disney-like bliss.

Unfortunately, I was way too busy throwing up to really put up much of a fight.

Once I got myself together, I started to worry about the effect of bird bones on Bubba's belly so I called the vet who shared the not at all comforting thought that this is probably not the first time birds have been killed and consumed in our backyard...he even expressed some admiration for the fact that an 8 year old dog is still spry enough to rampage around birdering.

Oddly, I do not feel the same sense of pride.

In any case, he said Bubba will probably be fine...but that we should keep an eye on his stool for the next few days, looking for signs of trouble.

I probably should have asked what those signs might be but, to be honest, I was a little distracted by the email I was already composing to Opie, informing him of the situation and indicating just whose job "stool searching" was going to be (here's a hint: not mine!).

And now I think I might have to spend the rest of the day lying on the couch with a cool compress on my head....