Pip the Cupboard Mouse Puts Things in Perspective

     Jeremy came into my office this morning and looked toward the mouse habitat.

Jeremy: "Where's Pip?"

Me: "He's in his nest sleeping.  He hardly comes out during the day, he's very nocturnal."

Jeremy: "That's all he does, sleep all day?"

Me: "Yeah, he comes out at night."

Jeremy moved closer to the cage and peered into its apparent emptiness: "I wonder what he does in there?  Just hangs out, thinking?"

Me: "I don't know, he might be thinking.  He hangs out at night, eats, runs on his wheel, walks around, builds things out of old socks, you know, he does stuff."

Jeremy, still contemplating the cage: "So, he basically does what we do then."

     I almost laughed at this, but stopped myself, after all, that's probably true, isn't it?

Pip hangs out in the big blue bubble at the top of the cage = Jeremy and I sit in the basement on the old green couch and watch movies.

Pip eats seeds and lettuce = Jeremy and I wolf down lasagna and garlic bread.

Pip runs on his wheel = Jeremy and I go to work.

Pip walks around = Jeremy and I go grocery shopping, sweep the floor, walk the dogs, do laundry, etc.

Pip builds various creations out of old socks and paper towel tubes = I write novels, Jeremy records cd's.

Pip does stuff = Jeremy and I do stuff too.

Pip sleeps in his nest all day = Jeremy and I sleep in our bed all night.

Jeremy: "I wonder what he thinks about."

I wander over to the mouse habitat and peer in beside Jeremy: "I don't know.  He could be plotting world domination for all I know."

Jeremy takes a sip of his coffee: "Yes, he could be."

     This short conversation this morning gave me a whole new respect for what goes on in the mouse habitat.  I'll be sure to supply Pip with a more varied selection of snacks and building materials in the future.

Nuka vs. The Land Walrus Introduce Pip the Cupboard Mouse

     Last winter a funny thing happened.  In the cupboard above our stove, the popcorn kept mysteriously vanishing.  At first I figured this was probably due to a porthole from another dimension, but then other things started happening in the cupboard.  Little gnaw marks appeared on containers and various foodstuffs, and then small, little black kernels littered the cupboard floor.  What could be happening in this cupboard?
     Jeremy quickly deduced that it was a mouse and presented with the evidence, I was forced to agree, so we did what most people do when confronted with a mouse, or, at least, what I assume they do, we went to the store for traps.

     That's where the trouble started.

     Your local hardware store has an aisle that will present many options for dealing with a mouse.  We took them all in and Jeremy started grabbing.  For better or worse, I am not a grabber, I am a reader, so I started reading and I didn't enjoy it at all.  Turns out the best way to deal with your mouse is to crack it with a metal bar or poison it.  This might seem like a perfectly reasonable way to deal with vermin, unfortunately, I cry when I see road kill, so I could only stare at Jeremy aghast.

Jeremy: "It's a mouse.  It's vermin.  We can't let it live in there and eat our food."

Me:  "I am not snap trapping it.  What if it doesn't die right away and it's half alive in the trap?  I will freak."

Jeremy:  "No problem, poison."

Me: "Jeremy, it is not safe to have poison in a house with dogs, and why should we poison the mouse?  He is only trying to live his mouse life, he just likes Orville Redenbacher."

Jeremy, glaring at me: "Well we have to get rid of it somehow."

     I surveyed the aisle of mouse torments and picked out two live traps designed specifically for overly sensitive babies like myself.  You put bait in there, and mice are dumb, apparently, so they walk in and then a lever goes up and the mouse can't get back out.  Captured mouse, alive at least.  Jeremy shrugged his whatevers at me and we bought the live traps.  I dutifully baited them at home and put them in the suspect cupboard, determined to show Jeremy that we could get rid of the mouse without killing it some terrible way.

     It didn't take long.

     The traps say to check them daily, so the next morning, first thing, I did just that.  Lo and behold, there, through the murky grey plastic, I spied the popcorn eater, a little brown mouse.  Gotcha!  I had captured the culprit on the first try, there was only one problem, something I failed to take into consideration upon my purchase of the live traps; what should I do with it now that I captured it?
     The trap literature helpfully recommended drowning the mouse, throwing it in the garbage, or releasing it somewhere not in your house.  Good ideas, right?  Problem is that in February, in Canada, my mouse would be a mouse-cicle in five seconds if I released it outside.  Admittedly, I had not considered this.
     I felt bad for the mouse, who was clearly not enjoying its time in the trap so I poked some holes in the lid of a coffee can and dumped him in there, like a five year old with a grass hopper.
     We named the mouse Cartman and purchased a CritterTrail habitat for it.  The mouse hated us, but at least it was alive and we could release it in the spring.  This should be the end of the story, but it isn't.  Turned out, the popcorn still wasn't safe.  Within the next few days, we caught another mouse, we named it Chili Cheese and dumped him in with Cartman, they seemed to be acquainted.  After this, thankfully, the cupboard cleared up.  I took everything out, bleached it, and nothing else violated the Orville Redenbacher.  Chili Cheese and Cartman hated us, but adjusted to life in their new habitat.  I figured that it didn't really matter anyway, because as soon as the weather warmed up they would be cheerfully released back into the wild, and that's exactly what happened, mostly.

     Chili Cheese and Cartman had four beautiful mouse babies.

     I was pretty stressed out when the mouse babies came.  I had not planned on one mouse, two mice, and then mice babies.  But, I'd come that far, so I stuck to my guns.  We would keep the mouse family until the snow was gone, then off they would go.
     Turns out our mice were White-footed mice.  I read about them, cleaned their cage once a week, fed them, changed their water and so on.  They were not much trouble as far as pets go.  The babies started getting big and I started to get worried, fortunately, the weather was beginning to break and I knew I could let them go soon.  Once the grass started to grow, I detached the portion of their cage that had their nest in it and put it out back under a large flower pot with the open end of the tunnel sticking out.  Finally, the mice were free to go when they wanted.
     The first to go was the dad mouse, Chili Cheese.  I was surprised he was the only one to make the break to freedom on the first night, but it was still early spring, so I brought them back inside for the day.  I would repeat this mouse ritual every morning and night for the next two weeks.
     Cartman went next, and then slowly, one by one, the mouse babies (now full grown) trickled off to find their own mouse lives in the wild.  It was a special time, watching my cupboard vermin be released into the wild, but of course, there was one, (isn't there always one?) that just wouldn't go.  For about a week he was the only one left and every night I would take him out back and put him under the flower pot and every morning I would go and find him still there, still nestled in the nest made out of old sock pieces and paper towels.  Eventually I tried dumping him out, (go, be free!)  but that little buggar dug his tiny hands into the side of the tunnel and held on for dear life.

Me:  "Go, little mouse!  I'm freeing you, go into the wild with your mouse family!"

Mouse: "Go to hell, lady!  I am not giving up free food and a cat-free environment!"

Me: "But you're a wild animal, it isn't right to cage you."

Mouse: "I was born in this cage, moron, and I will die here."

     I sighed and brought the mouse back in, and reattached him to the rest of his cage.  I told him I would give him one more chance to leave and then he could forget about it, because I was tiring of the charade.  That night I put him back under the flower pot and left some food scattered around.  Maybe once he got out in the world he would realize freedom was where it's at.

     No such luck.

     The next morning, I brought the stubborn mouse in for the last time and put his cage back together.  "That's it, you know." I said to him. "I am not putting you outside again, you are stuck here now."  Not surprisingly, the mouse did not reply, though he did run on the wheel with extra gusto that night.

Pip enjoys sunflower seeds and running on his wheel.

     Welcome to the blog, Pip the cupboard mouse, we're happy to have you!

Nuka and Duke vs. Mingling

     I don't have kids, I have dogs.  My dogs are at least as well behaved as most people's children and since people cart their snotty, ignorant little brats everywhere and assume everyone thinks that they're cute, I do the same with my dogs.
   
     As with children, however, some places are just not appropriate.

     This was a quandary I ran into this weekend.  I can finagle my canines into many locales, especially when family is concerned, but a memorial service just isn't one of them, nor should it be.  There was no question that the dogs would not be accompanying us this weekend, only a question of what we would do with them.  Nivek was so easy, he used to go stay with my parents, but to be perfectly blunt, my parents are not dog people, they are cat people.  In many ways, Nivek was like a big cat, so that was no problem.  Nuka and Duke, on the other hand, well, lets just say I would be more inclined to ask someone I don't like to watch them for me then people I love.
     I also wasn't sure what our schedule would be, so to be safe, I booked the dogs into the kennel for Friday and Saturday night and dropped them off Friday afternoon.  I packed their food and some treats and that was it.  It was a little weird without them underfoot, but also kind of nice.  There was plenty on my mind this weekend without two foolish animals thrown into the mix.
     What really struck me Saturday, after all of the depressing stuff, was the family gathering afterwards.  There were two dogs present, my uncle's dog, Holly, a long haired Jack Russell, and my cousin's dog, Molly, an American Eskimo (I would have taken their picture, but it did not occur to me to take my camera to this kind of event.  Lesson learned, take camera everywhere).  It didn't bother me that they were present, I am never going to complain about dogs, what struck me was how good they were!
     My Uncle has a very cute bungalow, with a very cute yard, and both are on the small side of things.  Let me tell you, it is no easy task to cram thirty members of my boisterous family in this type of space and keep them comfortable, break out the dogs and the kids, and you have a family tragedy in the making.

     Not so!

     Holly and Molly greeted everyone calmly with wagging tails.  No jumping, no barking.  They did a lot of sniffing and following around, no doubt trying to make some sense of all the loud, obnoxious weirdos suddenly in their midst.  Mostly though, they just found a shady corner and laid down, completely out of the way, no trouble to any one or anything.

     I wish!

     To be fair to less stellar animals, (example = mine) once the barbecue began, there was some definite begging on the part of Molly and Holly, but to be fair to them, there was some definite covert feeding going on as well.
     I officially stand back in awe of these two sweet and well behaved little girls.  I also have to ask myself a tough question, are my dogs so unruly because of me?  Surely temperament has something to do with it, as does age, training not so much in this particular situation because I know that these two animals have no more formal training then mine do.  Is it because mine are rescues?  Because they have some, ahem, issues?  Or, is it because of me?  Do I somehow bring out the worst in my animals because I'm anxious about their behaviour?  Food for thought.
     At the end of the day, I'm sure it's a combination of reasons, but in the future, I will make a conscious effort not to sabotage my dogs performance with my own worries.  Then maybe they'll have a better chance of putting on a quality show.

     Thanks, Molly and Holly!

Nuka vs. The Vet

     So, Monday morning I took Nuka to the vet for her annual check up and vaccinations.  Taking Nuka anywhere is an adventure, and one that I look forward to with an interesting mix of curiosity and dread.  I had the added anxiety of leaving Duke at home, thankfully, he was not alone.  I don't think they have really been separated since his arrival last August and he is a huge baby.  I had visions of him baying forlornly at the light fixture in the kitchen until our return, thankfully, Jeremy was around to distract him with shiny objects and food.
     Experience has taught me that a good vet is hard to find, so instead of going to one of the 20 offices within ten minutes, I drive 20 minutes outside the city to go to the same vet I used to frequent when I lived in a smaller town outside the city.  I have never begrudged this drive, not even once.
     There is something nice about going to the veterinarian for something as routine as vaccinations.  As my animals have aged, I have come to increasingly relate these trips with something terrible, some horrible news or unwanted revelation.  Twice in the past three years I have travelled to my vet with one of my dogs only to return home without them.  That stays with you.
     Out vet is a bright, friendly place where my dogs and I are addressed by name and Nuka, in all her Nuka-ness, is not seen as a problem or potential danger to society, but a big, exuberant girl whose 'hugs' only show her affection for people and enthusiasm for life, not a body check by an eighty pound German shepherd mix that clearly needs more training.
     As a special bonus, the resident cat was out of sight, (phew!) and the lobby was void of waiting patients, yay!  Nuka and I sat nicely and even when a little terrier mix trotted out in a cone, Nuka only offered a brief throat rumble, nothing too serious.
     Topping the scales at just about 80 pounds, Nuka is doing fine.  She got all of her needles like a trooper and withstood a physical exam with nothing more then a mildly irritated look I've come to think of as her 'bath time face'.  This face is made by the lowering of her substantial ears, not back, but out to the sides, giving her a Yoda-esque appearance.  The real challenge came with the Bordetella (canine cough) vaccine, which Nuka needs because she comes to work with me every day.  This vaccine is administered one of two ways, by injection, or by a quick shot up the nose.  My vet, this time Dr. S, happens to prefer the shot up the nose.
Our conversation on the subject went something like this:

Dr. S: "How do you think she'll take it?"

Me, eyeing up my bad dog's giant head like a deadly weapon: "I honestly don't know."

Dr. S, now also eyeing up my dog's giant head, probably like a potential deadly weapon: "I'm pretty fast.  I've learned to be."

Me, picturing Dr. S's pretty face ripped to shreds by Nuka, and Nuka licking her chops in gruesome satisfaction: "I don't know Dr. S.  It's totally up to you.  If you want to give her the injection instead or muzzle her or something, that's totally fine with me."

Dr. S: "Let me try.  She's been good so far, let's give her a chance.  Plus, like I said, I'm pretty fast."

     From behind, I held Nuka's head and took slow breaths in the hopes that my anxiety would not travel to my dog.  Dr. S said something reassuring to Nuka, then whistled, and when Nuka glanced up at her, Dr. S shot her magic serum right up the ol' nostril.  Piece of cake.
     There was visible confusion from my canine, then annoyance, and then a grudging look of irritation for the both of us like she knew she'd been had and was not too pleased about it.  Dr. S offered some praise and then a cookie, but Nuka snubbed it now, she's like that.  I should mention here that when Dr. S and I were engaged in conversation Nuka did eat the cookie off the floor, but she hoped we wouldn't notice, no doubt.
     We talked a little about Nuka after that, all is well.  I asked how old Dr. S thought she was, but apparently her teeth are very good so it's hard to tell, somewhere between four and six, maybe.  We also talked about spaying, a cloud that has hung over both Nuka and myself since she came here in January, 2009.  Nuka is not spayed, for reasons that are a whole other entry, but she needs to be done, as all dogs should be and all of my previous dogs have been.  In this, as in everything else, Nuka is an extenuating circumstance.
     I found our conversation reassuring, however, so before the end of the year, after summer holidays and before the madness of Christmas, Nuka will go under the knife, something I have both dreaded and craved for her since the moment she barrelled through our front door.

Dogs vs. Roadtrip: Part Three: The Actual Visit

     Jocko Point is a nice place for me to sit around, stare at water and listen to nothing but the gentle twitter of birds and the soft lull of lapping waves.  The dogs also seem to enjoy it.
     What with the tire and all, (see Part Two), not to mention the traffic, the six hour trip took us more like nine hours, and Duke and Nuka were understandably relieved when they were released from the confines of the Volvo.  Duke's first road trip had been a trial by fire, but he survived, and when we popped the back hatch and led him loose on the shores of Lake Nippissing, leashless, no less, he forgot all about the trauma.

Duke and Nuka, released from the Volvo

     No one, and I mean no one on Jocko Point leashes their dogs, and fences, what fences?  Now, here in southern Ontario, a loose dog will set you back a minimum of $200.00 and send you on a trip to the pound.  On Jocko Point, it's just a really good way to chat with the neighbours.
     I have known since we got Nuka that she is better behaved off leash.  I don't try to understand this, but I'm sure it's some deep, psychological issue she has with being restrained.  The problem, and it hurts to admit this, is that I don't trust Nuka.  I trusted Seeka, I trusted Nivek, but I don't trust Nuka, sorry girl.

There is something out there, something I want to chase...

     In spite of my blatant mistrust, Nuka has always behaved herself on Jocko Point.  She stays in the loosely defined 'yard', she does not attack and/or chase the random dogs that romp through Jocko's back hedges to say hello, and to date, she has never chased anything farther then my field of vision, except of course, a tennis ball.  It's like she knows, somehow, intuitively, that if she messes up, she may never get to come back.  On this point, she is correct.

Ice floes never stopped Nuka from swimming, they did stop Duke though.

          We played a lot of ball, and despite the water's frigid temperature, Nuka swam every day while Duke barked at her from the safety of the dock.  More then once I had to chase the hound, who followed his nose a little too far, but overall, the trip was a resounding success and the city dogs got to enjoy some country life, unrestricted and as free as a domestic pet can probably be.  Duke found a golf ball on Saturday and it became his most favorite thing.

His putt needs work, but Duke instantly bonded with the golf ball

     Jeremy and I did a lot of sitting, eating and drinking.  We played with the dogs, had Easter dinner and did a little walking tour of the traditional powwow grounds of the Nippissing First Nations People on the tip of Jocko Point.

Easter dinner?  I gots me a burnt waffle, score!

     Duke charmed Jeremy's family on his first trip to their home with his hilarious face and gentle disposition.  In the picture above, you might notice the position of his hind legs, splayed behind him in a 'T', which for whatever reason, is a position he often stays in for hours.  This struck Jeremy's mother just the right way and she spent a good portion of the weekend laughing at it and taking pictures of it.  Ah, Duke, always a ladies man.
     Like most good things, the weekend went by very quickly and Monday morning we grudgingly loaded the canines and came home.  Thankfully, there was not a repeat of the tire incident.  We were all a little depressed the first few days back in the city, but we have some very sweet, relaxing memories to see us through until next time.  If the peace we experienced is any indication, the next time probably won't be all that far in the future.

View from the tip of Jocko Point

     In case you're interested, I posted a funny video of Duke and his golf ball, it's on the sidebar to the right.