I’m not a big fan of critters. Oh, I get along well with the domesticated ones—you know, the husband, the kid and the dog. But I’m not good with anything wild like animals that live in the great outdoors for the express purpose of terrorizing me. In fact, saying I don’t get along with them is kind of an understatement. Saying I fear and loathe outdoor creatures is really much more accurate.
But a few weeks ago, I noticed that our dog was behaving oddly. And by that I mean she sat on the outdoor furniture and stared into the potted plants. This was very unusual for Kirby. She’s not what you might call a “thinker.” She’s more what the neighbors might call “a freaking barking nuisance.”
Anyway, fast forward to the other night. I’m in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Now for me, cooking requires a lot of concentration and a great deal of luck so that my family doesn’t end up in the emergency room or worse, in the drive-thru line at Taco Bell. So I’m focused. I’ve got pans on the stove, I’ve got a knife on the chopping block, I’m working the whole domesticated dinner diva thing.
And that’s when the dog starts barking like crazy.
Usually, I’d ignore her. But I’m trying to cook. One false move and the whole kitchen could go up in flames. It’s happened before. So I look in the general direction of where Kirby is barking and I do what any mom would do. I scream at her to stop. Of course, she doesn’t. And of course, because my screaming didn’t work the first time, I scream again, but much louder. And the dang dog still doesn’t stop. And that’s when I think it.
Crap. There might be a snake out there.
Now seriously, what the heck am I supposed to do? Snakes scare the bejeebers out of me. But I am fairly fond of the idiot dog whose barking clearly indicates that there is something out there that shouldn’t be. Briefly, I consider calling Junior at his friend’s house and making him come home, but then I realize that’s not a good plan. What if the snake bites Junior? And then, the barking stops. And that’s when I really start to worry.
So I leave my pots and knives and recipe book and go to the door, only to see that Kirby has whatever she had been barking at IN HER MOUTH.
At this point, I totally freak out. The dog is chewing on something, which from the looks of it isn’t a dang snake. Fortunately, Junior walks in the door about this time, sees his mother all bug eyed and crazy and gets the dog to drop what she is chewing and go in the house. I know you don’t have to be told this…but I’m still freaking out. Because now my dog has chewed up critter on her and she’s in the house and I’m totally grossed out.
So Junior either takes pity on me or just wants the screaming to stop and gets some paper towels and cleans up whatever remains of whatever Kirby was chewing on, then goes outside and does the same. After that he comes back into the house and says to me, “Mom, stop screaming. Kirby just had a mouse and she chewed it. But don’t worry. I found the missing eyeball.”
Oh, well, that makes it all better. At least I won’t go outside, sit down in the garden and find a freaking eyeball staring at me, will I? And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Junior continues the conversation with, “oh, and by they way, there are more mice out there. I think they are living in the big pot full of mint.”
Oh, HELL no. Those mice were not living in my mint. My mint is precious. It’s the lifeblood of my mojitos, which have gotten me through many, many long summer days with a teenager and his friends. Those mice clearly need to leave my mint alone.
So when Hubby got home from work, he and Junior cleaned out the mint. All they could save was one tiny stalk with a few leaves on it. But I replanted it and I am nurturing it back to health. But I’m telling you, this is just one more reason for me to hate critters. Eating my mint. Just who the heck do those mice think they are?Add me to your rss reader | Become a Fan on Facebook!