No more drunken mouse-flinging

We’ve been enjoying a major mouse infestation here at Falling Downs. I’m more than a little disappointed in Doublewide, the resident mouser. There’s other cats were you came from, Catso Fatso. Think about it.

Maybe a week ago I picked up some traps at Home Hardware, or maybe it was TSC. Anyway, we’re up to about a dozen of the rodents by now, and I’ve mastered the art of the one-handed trap-flick that will deliver that dead mouse all the way to the compost pile on the other side of the driveways. I’m not sure dead mice are kosher for compost, but I figure the raccoons will sort that out.

Sunday, for one reason or another, I got a little past my daily quota of Busch Light tallboys. In addition, I had spent several hours pruning pot buds earlier in the day. Your fingers get caked with a layer of resin, which leaves a nice glow. 

Checked the traps before turning in. Yup, another little invader to be pitched. I’ve done this a dozen times now. I’ve got it down. I fling the dead rodent while simultaneously opening the trap…

And find myself on my ass ten feet from the porch. The trap and the dead rodent were still in my hand. I had somehow flung myself, instead of flinging the rodent. As I was lying there, wondering if anything was broken, and enjoying my view of the sky, the Farm Manager stepped out onto the porch to enquire whether I needed assistance.

Well, you know how that goes. Once you say yes to the assistance, you’ve given up the moral high ground.

So I declined the offer, and salvaged my integrity, if not my pride, by getting back on the porch under my own power. 

No more drunken mouse-flinging.