Mouse House

It is my custom, upon returning home from work, to first tend to the animals. I feed the horses, goats, chickens, dogs, then cats. Our unfinished basement functions as a feedroom for these creatures, and tonight when I entered said feedroom, I saw something new.

A tiny baby mouse was sitting, frozen with fear, in the center of the room, and was being menaced by Monkey. Even though I know they're vermin, and teeming with disease, I have a soft spot for mice. Especially baby mice. So I chased Monkey off, and scooped the little mouselet into a plastic feed bucket. While I considered what to do next, I added some scratch grains to the bucket, to see if little Mickey was hungry. He was ravenous, and watching him eat made me realize I love him and have to raise him to adulthood, so I can release him outdoors and sing "Born Free" as he scampers off to meet some lady mice.

Later tonight, David found Mickey's brother in the same place, being menaced by Leo. I think it's nice that they have each other for company. They're safely installed in our laundry room now, still in the bucket, but now with pine shavings, delicious food, bedding and water. They look happy. I envision a time, once they're grown and out on their own, when we'll meet again. Probably I'll encounter them eating my crackers or pooping in my cutlery drawer, but I'll be happy to see them.

David won't, though. He still hates those meeses to pieces.

Woodland Critter Riot

Here on the farm, I'm a favorite of our animals. Basically, I'm a walking food dispenser. You know how on the cartoons, when someone is really hungry, they'll look at another person and see a roast chicken? I think when the farm animals look at me, they see a giant bag of oats. They expect treats when they see me, and they're rarely disappointed.

Rarely.

Recently, we ran out of the goats' oats and scratch grains for the chickens. We were on vacation, and our pet sitter was diligent in following my instructions to "give the goats and chickens grain for treats if you want to." And you know how it is the week after vacation...you're getting caught up on laundry, cleaning, unpacking...so grain-shopping can fall by the wayside.

Well, apparently, there's only so much my animals are willing to take.

It started innocently. The chickens followed me around, clucking to each other eagerly, looking at me expectantly, then standing by the back door, crestfallen, as I left them treatless. But too soon, it escalated into something much uglier. One day, Jezebel the goat rammed the back door as I was going back inside. She forced her way into the basement with me, and demanded to know where the grain had gone. I had to lure her back out with an empty bucket. This was a blatant lie, and I knew I'd pay for this subterfuge. I just didn't know how dearly I would pay.

The next time I went out to feed, I was prepared. I had finally purchased grain for both the goats and the chickens. I admit that when I looked through the glass door, I was a bit nervous about the scene I observed. There they were, seven chickens and two goats, lined up and glaring at me through the window. I swear, some of the chickens had their wings folded over their chests and were tapping their feet impatiently. Their anger was apparent, but surely they'd forgive me once they saw I'd finally brought their grain....

But no. As soon as I walked out the door, I was attacked. Surrounded by outraged goats and chickens. They circled me, eyeing me angrily, muttering to themselves. It reminded me of a scene from Grease, only both gangs were after me and there was no singing to lighten the mood. The goats approached, and, essentially, tried to climb me. I don't know how else to describe it. They stood on their hind legs, and tried to climb their way up to where I held the oat bucket. A riot erupted. The chickens began jumping up, trying to snatch the grains out of my hands. It was like something out of a Hitchcock movie, and I immediately regreted not capturing it on film for the You Tubes.

I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear I wasn't badly hurt. I was covered in dirt and hoofprints, and got a couple of bruises on my legs from where the goats were able to get a foothold, but I'm fine now. I'm also very glad to report that something good came out of all this. Once the riot began to wind down, I realized I could essentially choreograph the goats' and chickens' moves to follow the grain bucket. Now, instead of a woodland critter riot, we have a dance troupe. And they're quite good.

Training Day

Locked in a windowless room with a bunch of lawyers. It's my employer's annual 2-day long training, and it is draining my will to live. I want to love my job, but it's making it hard. I think my job wants me to break up with it.
First of all, it's hotter than hell in here, and these gasbags are sucking all the air out of the room. And, to add insult to injury, there are no refreshments, and although lunch is provided, it's from the craptastic courthouse cafeteria and we're required to eat it in this fiery hell closet of a training room while some blowhard yammers on.
I am willing to acknowledge that a lot of the trouble I have with training is entirely due to my unmedicated ADD. But this sucks.
I wish there were scented markers. At my previous employer, we had scented markers, and the cinnamon one even tasted good!
I've been told I have a bad attitude, but I don't think that's true. All I want is some scented markers.

Dominican Holiday

So, the mister and I just returned from a week of frolic in the Dominican Republic. Some of the highlights:

-GINORMOUS rats gamboling in the center of the resort grounds. I was alone the first time I encountered the megarats. It should be added that it was really the middle of the night. Like maybe 2 a.m. Still, giant feral rats were charming, and captured my imagination for the rest of the trip. What do they eat? Do they ever become aggressive if affronted? Do they have dreams and aspirations beyond the acquisition of trail mix? What diseases do their fleas carry?

-Found a conch whilst snorkeling, took it back to resort, suggested to kitchen staff that we attempt to eat it. Success. Kitchen staff clearly interested to see whether I'd really eat it. I did.

-Saw a HUGE, aggressive spider. It lunged at David. Later, discovered many confounding bites all over my legs. Can't say conclusively that the two are linked. Just seems likely.

-Observed main mode of public transport: little motorcycle taxis. Awesome, right? Except saw many moms holding 2-3 infants at a time while riding these death rockets right next to giant busses. Did you know? No such thing as a baby-helmet. So that's gotta change.

-Clearly, booze is watered down at resort. Took diligent efforts to acquire and maintain proper buzz. Dear Riu Resort; WTF? I am still thirsty, and oddly, still not drunk. So ANGRY.

-Sampled local beverage: mamajuana. Supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Comprised of wood and herbs soaked in rum. Not bad, really. Also, enjoyed constant cries of "Drinky! Drinky! Very Good!" from servers. "Drinky Drinky" has become new party mantra.

-Enjoyed nightly live entertainment. Still, don't think I understood it. Every night, seemed like mystifying hybrid of "Sabado Gigante" and "Peewee's Playhouse." Periodically, performers would shriek what must have been "the word of the day." Then, all performers launched into hectic, frenetic dance to the sound of bongo drums.

A good time was had by all.