Monsieur Mouse

Three or four times lately, I’ve heard an odd sort of thumping in the house. I didn’t know what it was, until finally…Wait. First, let me tell you that our house has an unheated hallway connecting the house and the garage. At one end of the hallway is the door into the garage and at the other end is the door into the kitchen. In the middle of the hallway is the door leading into the pantry. The pantry is a large unheated room with very sturdy shelves which the previous owner used to store the jeep parts that he sold. We call the room “the pantry,” but it is actually large enough that it is storage for many things other than food, Our house would be too small if it weren’t for this room to store extra items in. When we first moved to this house, we put the kitty litter box in the pantry–a perfect place away from the rest of the house. EJ made a little cat door so the cats could access it but not the dog, who likes to eat what the cats leave behind. (Yuck.) A couple days ago, I couldn’t find Hannah Joy. Usually, if I don’t see her, she’s doing something she shouldn’t and it was true this time. I discovered that the thumping I had heard had been her wiggling her way into the pantry through the cat entrance where she then ate, uh, what the cats left behind. EJ made the entrance a little narrower–hopefully small enough that Hannah can’t get through. So far, so good.

Friday morning I groggily stumbled into the coop to let the chickens out and feed them. When I opened their feed bin, a little mouse jumped at me. I didn’t know how it got in there since I keep the food secure in a plastic trash can, which I call a “feed bin” because it’s shorter and sounds better than “poultry feed trash can.” Theo had followed me into the garden so I picked him up and showed him the mouse, hoping he’d kill it so I could scoop it out. But although Theo has no problem killing rodents, he didn’t want to go into the bin. So I finally put an empty kitty litter bucket in the bin (we use kitty litter buckets for many different things) and when the mouse finally ran into it, I pulled it out. The bucket was large and smooth enough that the mouse couldn’t leap out. I put the bucket outside and when the chickens gathered around it, I kicked the bucket over, hoping they’d kill it for me. Chickens WILL kill mice and things. Mice are cute, especially in cartoons, but they are vermin. I don’t want to be overrun with mice or have them in the feed bin. The mouse was quick and escaped under the coop. I don’t know if the chickens even saw it. Sigh. I should have taken the mouse far from the coop.

I found the mouse in the feed bin again this morning. It was hiding in the empty plastic coffee container that I use as a scoop and when I dumped out the feed for the chickens, it was also dumped out all covered with feed. I carefully checked the bin and found a tiny hole cleverly hidden up near the handle. I wouldn’t have thought a mouse could chew a hole through the heavy plastic bin, but apparently they can. I found a metal trash can in the garage and took it to the coop. Since it’s galvanized, I didn’t pour the feed directly into it, but I scooped the feed from the plastic bin into a bag, put the bag in the metal trash can, and securely fastened the lid. The metal trash can is now “the bin.”

I was going to take the plastic trash can/bin into the garage, but then I thought, “Ah ha!” There is a hole in the trash can, and there is feed residue inside. If the mouse, thinking there is still food inside, goes in through the hole and falls in he won’t be able to get out. The trash can, which became a feed bin, is now a mouse trap. “I’ve got you now, Monsieur Mouse,” I thought. I hope I’m more clever than it is.

White Feather, the hen, died Friday. I was surprised that she lived as long as she did. I knew I was basically giving her hospice care by shutting her away to prevent Mean Girl from tormenting her. I know that real farmers sometimes have to make hard choices about their animals, but we only have a garden, a few fruit trees, and a small flock of chickens and I struggle with ending the life of an animal. I enjoy eating meat, but I don’t raise animals to eat because I would never be able to slaughter and eat what I’ve gotten to know. If I got hungry enough, I am sure I would, but I’m not that hungry.

Our county has a couple of “clean-up” days each year–one when we can drop off unwanted items without charge and another when we can drop off toxic items. The general clean-up day was in May. Saturday was the one for toxic items. Earlier in the week we had gathered together some old cans of paint, old car batteries, and a couple other things. On Saturday we had a pleasant drive through the beautiful countryside to the drop-off point at the middle school in a nearby town. it took only a couple of minutes to unload the items and then we drove back home to enjoy the rest of our day.

This summer I’ve noticed several trees growing on our property that I’ve never previously noticed. They were mature trees so I’m surprised that I hadn’t seen them before. I search through our “Trees of North America” field guide and found the tree. It is an “eastern hophornbeam,” also called “ironwood’ because it has very hard heavy wood. I had never heard of such a tree before. One of the volunteers at the toxic clean-up drop-off place was handing out flyers for a “Forest Owner Field Day,” a one-day event at which there will be lectures about forest health, management, invasive species, and so forth. We would love to attend but EJ has to work that day. We got to talking to the guy and told him about identifying the hophornbeam trees we just noticed on our property. He said that, yeah, the trees seem to be especially noticeable this year.

I just paused to go hang some laundry on the clothesline. For some reason, this summer I’ve had a problem with little ants marching across one of the ropes of the clothesline. I never find them on the other three ropes, only on the one. This morning I put more diatomaceous earth at the base of the two posts, which seems to help for a while. Then I wiped the line of ants off the rope and hung my clothes.