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Thanks to Skoshy for reminding me
Feb. 20th, 2004 10:41 pmI was the Harbor Master for the sailing club I'm a member of for two years. During the off season (i.e. winter), it was my job to set mouse traps around the boathouse to catch mice before the decided to dine on our tasty and expensive sails. So I would dutifully set the snap-traps with peanut butter and wind up the cage trap (they walk thru it and when they hit a panel in the middle, it tosses them into a containment area for later release). And once a week, I'd check the traps and dispose of any mice that were caught.
Now, I've always thought mice were cute. In fact, I vividly remember taking a math test in high school when I was visited by a mouse. I was straining my brain to answer the questions when I got the sensation of being watched. I looked around to see no one was looking at me. Then I looked down. Staring back at me was a field mouse that had found his way into the classroom. It sat there with it's little paws resting on my shoe and staring up at me with a look of both wonderous amazement and total petrification. He scampered off under the radiator when I smiled at him.
So cleaning up squished mice at the boathouse was no picnic. Especially the ones that had obviously been caught shortly after my last visit. Their skulls crushed and split open by the snap of the trap, dried blood and grey matter all over the trap and the floor literally gluing it t down. It made my stomach churn to have to dispose of the bodies. But that was preferable to the one visit I made just before spring.
Most of the winter, the spring trap was empty. I'd gotten to the point where I didn't expect anyone to be in there so I only checked it once every other week. One week when I checked it, there were three mice in there. Well, actually four had been captured but there were only three remaining. They had been in there so long they had started eating each other to survive. One of them was completely consumed. Another was rendered down to skin and bones. The remaining two had obvious chew marks on their heads and legs. And only one of them was alert enough to notice they cage had been moved.
I took the cage out, opened it up and watched the lone alert one dash off under the leaves and underbrush. The second survivor had to be shaken out of the cage and only ran off when I nudged him with my foot. The rest just fell to the ground awaiting decomposition.
It killed me to do that, knowing that one of those mice would be lucky to survive the night and both of them would likely perish from infection. Not to mention the fact that they were forced to eat each other to survive because I was too lazy to check the trap regularly. And the image of their shiny, coal-black eyes staring up at me framed with dried blood and matted fur with stick with me always.
That was the last time I did that job.
Now, I've always thought mice were cute. In fact, I vividly remember taking a math test in high school when I was visited by a mouse. I was straining my brain to answer the questions when I got the sensation of being watched. I looked around to see no one was looking at me. Then I looked down. Staring back at me was a field mouse that had found his way into the classroom. It sat there with it's little paws resting on my shoe and staring up at me with a look of both wonderous amazement and total petrification. He scampered off under the radiator when I smiled at him.
So cleaning up squished mice at the boathouse was no picnic. Especially the ones that had obviously been caught shortly after my last visit. Their skulls crushed and split open by the snap of the trap, dried blood and grey matter all over the trap and the floor literally gluing it t down. It made my stomach churn to have to dispose of the bodies. But that was preferable to the one visit I made just before spring.
Most of the winter, the spring trap was empty. I'd gotten to the point where I didn't expect anyone to be in there so I only checked it once every other week. One week when I checked it, there were three mice in there. Well, actually four had been captured but there were only three remaining. They had been in there so long they had started eating each other to survive. One of them was completely consumed. Another was rendered down to skin and bones. The remaining two had obvious chew marks on their heads and legs. And only one of them was alert enough to notice they cage had been moved.
I took the cage out, opened it up and watched the lone alert one dash off under the leaves and underbrush. The second survivor had to be shaken out of the cage and only ran off when I nudged him with my foot. The rest just fell to the ground awaiting decomposition.
It killed me to do that, knowing that one of those mice would be lucky to survive the night and both of them would likely perish from infection. Not to mention the fact that they were forced to eat each other to survive because I was too lazy to check the trap regularly. And the image of their shiny, coal-black eyes staring up at me framed with dried blood and matted fur with stick with me always.
That was the last time I did that job.
