Thursday, August 4, 2011

Tae a moose....

No, not that kind of moose! In Scotland we call a mouse a moose in the local dialect.

The tale I have to tell you is of a wee house mouse that was just doing what all mice do and that is look after it’s family and feed its belly with whatever I may have inadvertently dropped in the kitchen or the pantry. We live on a ravine, so from time to time over the years someone in the house will spy a mouse. This time it was my grandson Riley.

Don’t get me wrong. One of my favourite movies is “Stuart Little” and my husband and I like that other rodent the chipmunk. They have taken to burrowing and making their home in our garden. I am not allowed to weed or move any of the old plants in case I “disturb them”. But I draw the line at having one scurry through my kitchen, so my husband was sent to fetch a few mouse traps.

We had the traps for weeks as my husband has a weak stomach for dead animals no matter what the size and I was busy and forgot about them until we noticed ‘evidence” of visitors under the kitchen sink. So this is how the story goes......

The two brave lads that live in my house set up a plan and laid a trap with peanut butter. The older lad gave instructions to the younger to make sure he disposed of the mouse first thing in the morning before Granma was up. She surely would freak out if she saw one caught in the trap!! I think maybe the older one was the one to freak out.

Sure enough, the younger lad rose at 6.30am and confronted his Granma, who was straight out of the shower with this wee moose in its trap. The older lad should have instructed the younger to dispose of it before showing it to Granma because all I could think was...

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

By Robert Burns


I don’t think a mouse trap is what Rabbie Burns had in mind.

Talk soon,
Slainte,
Pam

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