Of Unsound Mind
I've just received word that On The River, the e-magazine and print magazine, is no longer going to be published. So I am taking all my saved stories that were to be published there and putting them online. This blog will be my new home for those non-fiction stories. Here is one, for your reading enjoyment! :)
OF UNSOUND MIND
To most people, mice are an annoyance, a creature usually abhorred, if not hated. They are a nuisance to be endured, no matter if your home is the city or the country. Despite all my tales of saving animals, I’m inclined to agree. Yet in several occurrences, I’ve found my reason deserting me.
I’ve sometimes let mice trapped in my kitchen cabinets in early fall free, taking them to the far edge of the forest. A mouse dead in a trap is recycled outside with a little solemnity, but no real sadness. It’s just a necessary part of everyday life. Yet when faced with a live mouse, whiskers quivering, eyes wide and fearful, my cold rationale is often overwhelmed by my pity.
That is not the only case. While burning up a pile of branches and deadwood this summer, I discovered a nest of baby mice within the pile, their hairless bodies pink, their eyes not yet open. Immediately I set about moving them, even as the fire crackled closer, threatening me along with them. Though several tried to escape, squeaking, I managed to get them all moved out of harm’s way in time. When I returned a few weeks later, the nest I’d moved was intact, the babies gone.
That might also be viewed as normal, as death by burning is universally seen as cruel, and those mice were outside. But there was also the instance of The Boat and The Baby Mice.
We’d decided to sell an ancient boat stored in a garage. Upon moving it, we’d found evidence of mice: gnawed foam, dropping, and mouse-house litter. Cursing mice in general, we moved the boat a few inches only to have a furry baby mouse stagger over the floor. Two more baby mice were still inside, eyes blinking at us in terror.
The baby mouse I’d caught was clearly hungry and lethargic, his tail sunken. Immediately, the consensus was they needed to be fed. A paper plate with Cheerios and other bits of food was quickly placed in the boat’s bottom, with the errant baby. Within moments, one baby was feasting; another grabbing treats to carrying further inside the boat. A decision was made not to move the boat until the following week. When we returned, the food was all gone, and so were the mice, never to be seen again.
Other actions of mine, besides the one above, are probably viewed as strange. Perhaps my mind is unsound, my saving of some creatures illogical. Still, no act of clemency I’ve ever committed ever brought me regret, only serenity.
OF UNSOUND MIND
To most people, mice are an annoyance, a creature usually abhorred, if not hated. They are a nuisance to be endured, no matter if your home is the city or the country. Despite all my tales of saving animals, I’m inclined to agree. Yet in several occurrences, I’ve found my reason deserting me.
I’ve sometimes let mice trapped in my kitchen cabinets in early fall free, taking them to the far edge of the forest. A mouse dead in a trap is recycled outside with a little solemnity, but no real sadness. It’s just a necessary part of everyday life. Yet when faced with a live mouse, whiskers quivering, eyes wide and fearful, my cold rationale is often overwhelmed by my pity.
That is not the only case. While burning up a pile of branches and deadwood this summer, I discovered a nest of baby mice within the pile, their hairless bodies pink, their eyes not yet open. Immediately I set about moving them, even as the fire crackled closer, threatening me along with them. Though several tried to escape, squeaking, I managed to get them all moved out of harm’s way in time. When I returned a few weeks later, the nest I’d moved was intact, the babies gone.
That might also be viewed as normal, as death by burning is universally seen as cruel, and those mice were outside. But there was also the instance of The Boat and The Baby Mice.
We’d decided to sell an ancient boat stored in a garage. Upon moving it, we’d found evidence of mice: gnawed foam, dropping, and mouse-house litter. Cursing mice in general, we moved the boat a few inches only to have a furry baby mouse stagger over the floor. Two more baby mice were still inside, eyes blinking at us in terror.
The baby mouse I’d caught was clearly hungry and lethargic, his tail sunken. Immediately, the consensus was they needed to be fed. A paper plate with Cheerios and other bits of food was quickly placed in the boat’s bottom, with the errant baby. Within moments, one baby was feasting; another grabbing treats to carrying further inside the boat. A decision was made not to move the boat until the following week. When we returned, the food was all gone, and so were the mice, never to be seen again.
Other actions of mine, besides the one above, are probably viewed as strange. Perhaps my mind is unsound, my saving of some creatures illogical. Still, no act of clemency I’ve ever committed ever brought me regret, only serenity.
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