Doesn’t everyone just adore the Bucket List idea? How great to make a list of all the things we’ve always wanted to do before we leave this world and then slowly tick away at that list.
Kudos to those lucky folks who accomplish them all, say I.
Recent events have caused me to rethink my own BL. It appears that our happy little forest friends possess some creepy intuition regarding the upcoming cold months because they are bold this year…’on the porch’ and ‘trying to open the flipping front door’ kind of bold.
Oh dear. I’m not a fan of having to catch and/or kill stuff because, well, Thou Shalt Not Kill.
I’m even less a fan of sharing my living space or food with a critter that belongs on the other side of the wall.
So it started the same way it always does. Weather turns chilly. Poo droppings appear in and around the kitchen counter.
Poor Rock sets up the usual snappy trap thing. Mouse avoids it for several nights. Off to hardware store.
Comes home with “sure fire” devices, one of which is sticky pads guaranteed to “trap the rodent.”
We put them everywhere, including the front porch. Chippy scurries up front porch stairs, WHILE I’M SITTING THERE, and low ‘n behold hits the pad.
It tries to pry off the nut I’ve glued to it, and wonder of wonders gets stuck there! Ha!
Turns out my victory dance was premature because…NOW WHAT??
He’s flopping about like a fish out of water, stuck to this sticky chunk of cardboard. And he’s on my porch, looking at me in between spastic fits.
I dash inside for a tool. No plan in mind, but gotta get this thing outta here.
Then, I step smack dab on the other pad I had strategically placed inside the door. I, too, am stuck to a sticky chunk of cardboard.
I’m pretty sure the chippy snickered and possibly even winked at me. But on second thought, it may have just been another spasm.
I am forced to tear this nightmare from the bottom of my bare foot.
I know he heard that dreadful sound but had no reaction—possibly in shock at this point.
My eye catches my Let It Snow decorative shovel that lives all year on the front porch and I scoop him up.
Flopping commences immediately. I persevere and get him to the woods, toss, and walk away.
Can’t look, don’t wanna see what the ol’ crows have in store, but can’t resist checking after a bit of time has passed. He’s gone. Hardly a success story.
We’ve tried the d-CON, but that always seems to lead to a stinky dead mouse decaying in a remote corner. Tried repellents, tried all kinds of traps.
This, my friends, is why I am returning to the bucket.
That’s right—the good old fashioned bucket filled with nice happy water and the spinny peanut butter smeared rod.
So simple, so effective.
We’ve all heard that drowning is such a peaceful way to go, there’s music and serenity and most importantly, I HAVE NOT KILLED!
Not sure how much more I can lower the bar here, but there you have it—my new Bucket List.