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Last night, after a long day of running around -- work and family stuff -- all I wanted to do was lie down, prop my foot up for it to unswell, and relax. Which I did, for a goodly bit, as the other members of the family unwound and got ready for bed.
Then, just as Honey got into bed and settled down with her PDA, the dog -- who had been quietly resting on his soft pad in the doorway -- picked up his head, woofed, and got to his feet. This requires more effort than you might imagine, as he is elderly and arthritic, and not inclined to rise up for anything less important than food, drink, or outs. Not even the arrival at home of his beloved family will cause him to do anything more than thump his tail on the floor and perhaps raise his eyebrows. Thus, when he climbs to his feet, it requires attention. In this case, it required an escort to the door and out.
Along the way, as we were traversing the length of the house in order to use the entrance without stairs, I noticed a cat in hunting posture. Pointing his face at the junction of a box and a wall, a classic "cat hunting bug" pose, so I thought very little of it as I shuffled past with the dog.
We went out, he did what he needed to do, I shooed him back in with many shooings and pushings (did I mention he is an elderly dog, much prone to stoppings and lookings around, and sniffings, and more stoppings, about every other step?). We came in, and I saw both cats in hunting pose, only they'd moved from near the front door into the new area of the house, and then I could see in the near dark something scuttling. Awfully big for a bug, think I, so I naturally turned on a light.
It was a mouse. A young mouse, just past weaning age. Nearing exhaustion, still paddling behind things, anything, just to get away from this cat or that cat, only without much success.
I sighed. I am so not in the mood to kill anything right now. The mouse crawled behind something while I grabbed a large plastic mug and some heavy paper. I did the usual cover and scoop, and deposited said young mouse outside the door. I figured he might still die, from exhaustion, but it wouldn't be my fault.
The cats were nearly frantically searching for the MOUSIE! that they knew to be in this area. I managed to distract them with TREATS!! and gave the dog his own treat for just being himself, and trundled off to bed.
This morning, Brady was still looking for MOUSIE! that he was sure was still around here, somewhere. Here? No. Here? No. Then he gave up and attacked the rug instead, where there were still some crumbs of catnip.
Then, just as Honey got into bed and settled down with her PDA, the dog -- who had been quietly resting on his soft pad in the doorway -- picked up his head, woofed, and got to his feet. This requires more effort than you might imagine, as he is elderly and arthritic, and not inclined to rise up for anything less important than food, drink, or outs. Not even the arrival at home of his beloved family will cause him to do anything more than thump his tail on the floor and perhaps raise his eyebrows. Thus, when he climbs to his feet, it requires attention. In this case, it required an escort to the door and out.
Along the way, as we were traversing the length of the house in order to use the entrance without stairs, I noticed a cat in hunting posture. Pointing his face at the junction of a box and a wall, a classic "cat hunting bug" pose, so I thought very little of it as I shuffled past with the dog.
We went out, he did what he needed to do, I shooed him back in with many shooings and pushings (did I mention he is an elderly dog, much prone to stoppings and lookings around, and sniffings, and more stoppings, about every other step?). We came in, and I saw both cats in hunting pose, only they'd moved from near the front door into the new area of the house, and then I could see in the near dark something scuttling. Awfully big for a bug, think I, so I naturally turned on a light.
It was a mouse. A young mouse, just past weaning age. Nearing exhaustion, still paddling behind things, anything, just to get away from this cat or that cat, only without much success.
I sighed. I am so not in the mood to kill anything right now. The mouse crawled behind something while I grabbed a large plastic mug and some heavy paper. I did the usual cover and scoop, and deposited said young mouse outside the door. I figured he might still die, from exhaustion, but it wouldn't be my fault.
The cats were nearly frantically searching for the MOUSIE! that they knew to be in this area. I managed to distract them with TREATS!! and gave the dog his own treat for just being himself, and trundled off to bed.
This morning, Brady was still looking for MOUSIE! that he was sure was still around here, somewhere. Here? No. Here? No. Then he gave up and attacked the rug instead, where there were still some crumbs of catnip.
