All The Moose That's Fit To Print
By Ron Marr (01/04/04)
It was just about this time last year when my house was invaded by mice. I'm not talking about three or four cute little Mickeys that you barely glimpse out of the corner of your eye as they make a mad dash between the stove and refrigerator. I'm talking about hundreds of hungry vermin that stormed the ramparts like Visigoths on crack. They poured in from the great out-there, running across cabinets and crawling around in pantries and basically making me feel like a $10 a day extra in the cast of "Willard." I damn near lost my mind.
Some folks - mostly PC types - like to catch their mice alive, gently setting them free to once again roam the woodlands and frolic in the meadows. They seem not to realize that the first thing a mouse does when you grant it freedom is to run around the corner of the house and come back inside. Well, that's not completely accurate. The first thing it does is roll around in dirt, filth, sludge and excrement. THEN it comes back inside.
That's why I don't believe in live-trapping rodents. They are dirty and wicked and gross. At every opportunity I terminate mice with extreme prejudice. Last year I whacked something like 100 in three days. That seemed to send the message that Hermit's Heaven was not a good place to seek a Monterey Jack handout.
So, learning by experience, I have this year mouse-proofed my home. A mouse will always find a way in (a camel can't fit through the eye of a needle but I'm pretty sure your garden variety, hanta-virus carrying field rodent can) but I figure I've deterred them pretty well. Any visible openings around pipes or drains or doors have been sealed and plugged and packed. I don't use poison, but I do have traps set in strategic locales. I'm yet to see a mouse, and the traps remain empty. I even bought some of those ultra-sonic doohickeys guaranteed to keep your residence free of mice, pterodactyls and polar bears. So far I'm mouse free, and not a single polar bear or pterodactyl has wandered onto the property.
So, you would think I'm prepared for a nice, quiet rodentless winter, right? I've got plenty of dogs, wood, food, whiskey and guitars, right? All is well in the world....right?
Wrong. The invasion has started again. No, it's not mice. Not unless they got into the old steroid patch.
This time it's moose.
For three days straight now a huge cow moose and her calf have been hanging around my backyard. I wouldn't mind this if it weren't for the fact that I have dogs. These two species have some sort of genetic blood feud going on, and my pups have made Mother Moose feel about as welcome as Pat Buchanan at a lesbian square dance. Their first encounter (of course) came at about midnight. It (of course) occurred when it was 10 below. In response to the commotion (I've heard quieter train wrecks) I ran outside barefoot, screaming at the dogs to get in the house, cussing at the moose, and blasting my sawed off 12 gauge straight up in the air.
This seemed to bother the moose...for about 10 minutes. The next morning, the tracks in the fresh snow indicated they had hopped the fence, strolled right through the backyard, leaned against my house and taken a nice nap. They were soaking up ambient warmth in the way a wino soaks up Night Train Express and unfiltered Kools. I was impressed. This was world class mooching.
But the problem still remains. You see, to put it in scientific terms, moose are frickin' crazy. They're probably worse than bears. They truly dislike dogs, and have been know to veer out of their way to stomp one. My puppies are my priority, so I've taken to following them outdoors with the aforementioned Winchester (now loaded with deer slugs). This is partly for the protection of the dogs, but also for the protection of me. I've gone eyeball to eyeball with Mom Moose about three times in three days...and that's just not good.
Remember those old bumper stickers "if you can read this you're too close." Well, if you can see a moose's eyelashes you're WAY WAY too close.
However, it looks as if the moose are here to stay. They've set up housekeeping in my nearby stand of willow that has a pretty little creek running through it. They seem happy bashing through the brush and rampaging around town, ordering pizzas and playing rap music or whatever the hell it is that moose do. I suppose Henry and Boris and I will just have to adapt. I mean, it's not like we have any choice. Maybe, if we take the time to watch and listen, we will even learn something.
Man...this must be how Democrats feel.
(Printer friendly version) Email: Ron Marr
