I carefully took him (her?) out of the barn, across the paddock and into the back yard. I gently put the can down and tipped it so the mouse could scamper off, when out of nowhere a furry black and white bullet came screaming past. That would have been Ponda, my dad’s border collie. I don’t know where that dog was when it heard four little mouse paws hit the snow, but she materialized out of thin air. At great speed.The mouse screeched, flew into the air like a tiny little Harrier jet and … disappeared. Although I swore I could feel little mouse feet scurrying about my person.
“DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!”He came out of the house and I explained what happened. Being the understanding sort, he laughed at me, and then we started peeling away layers of clothes all the while searching for the mouse. Did I mention that this was in Minnesota and there were lots of layers?
I was down to my thermal underwear top, bottoms and jeans and we still hadn’t found it. I was shivering. My dad was thinking I’d imagined the whole thing, except for Ponda, who sat a respectful distance, literally vibrating in place. Suddenly, I felt something twitch on my upper thigh. The mouse, sandwiched between my long underwear and jeans, had decided it was time to make a break for it. I admit it, I screamed like a girl. And proceeded to perform my own Saint Vitus dance. The mouse went flying out the end of my pants legs in a graceful arc, and the dog intercepted her in mid-air like a heat seeking missile.Ponda then put the mouse down, and played with it for a while. I don’t know if the mouse succumbed to its injuries or fear, but I swear that dog picked up the little mouse corpse, dropped it at my feet, and gave me a look that asked if I would please put new batteries in it because the ones that came with it on Christmas morning sure didn’t last very long.
Yeah. It was sort of like this. But with a mouse instead of squirrels.