I...I...I Gotta Go!

I thought I'd sit down and catch up on a few of my favorite blogs, but it turns out I gotta get out of here. Because I just witnessed something that I shudder to describe. It can't be described. Shouldn't be described. SHOULD NEVER BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN. EVER. (Mom, stop reading now.)

Sometimes farm life is just way too...farmy.  I'm about to subject you to the dark underbelly of farm living that most self-respecting women won't discuss. Won't even whisper about. I'm going to blow the doors wide open on this secret shame that women are supposed to be genetically hardwired to keep quiet.

See, our old swiss cheese Adobe farm home is right next to a (now dormant) alfalfa field, then surrounded by high desert and pasture and grazing land around that, with homes and corrals here and there. If you don't know already, swiss cheese + fields + wide open spaces = mice.

Mike has been on a quest of late to kill all the mice that have taken up residence since the fall. We haven't had mice around here since the first year we moved in; but this year, we've got 'em. And we are working hard to get rid of them.

Mike's tried a few different methods  to get rid of the critters. We've considered poison, but we'd hate to have the poisoned mice run outside and get eaten by one of our cats (although, if the cats were doing their job a little better, we might not have this issue, but that's another topic altogether.) Right now we're down to just good old fashioned traps. You know the kind? Put down the cheese or peanut butter, then SNAP? 

This morning, Mike reported he caught/killed six mice last night. Six. I didn't want to know there were six mice around here. There aren't enough Clorox wipes in the world for the kind of obsessive disinfecting I'm fantasizing about. But, that's not the end of the story.

Guess what, Mikey? One of your contraptions caught one more little fiend this morning. Then, Ben the Kitten found the trap. (Little late to the game there, Benny.) And nothing good has come from that development. No, no, nothing good at all. And I am absolutely not getting close enough to intervene.

So, I'm leaving the house till he's done with his barbaric adventure.

I'm going outside to build a moat around the house to keep any more of the whiskered fellers from finding their way in.

Ew. Ew. Ew.Ew. Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.Ew.

(By the way, lest you think those other bright, shiny apple-cheeked farm bloggers don't have anything so icky happen in their little farming adventures, think again. They do. I'm sure of it. They must. Mustn't they? Please?)

Love from the farm,
Teri