“Remoted” – Day 450 (Wednesday)

Today, when I took the dogs to the back yard for their first or maybe second visit of the morning, there was a dead mouse behind the air conditioner unit. It lay on its left side, facing the foundation wall, with its long skinny tail extended behind it and pointing at the air conditioning unit. It had a white belly and white legs and a gray back, small ears and teeny tiny feet, and a few small ants crawling on it. There were no visible puncture wounds or blood. I don’t know how it met its demise. Yes, I took a picture, and no, you don't have to see it.

Winston and Moose are more
the indoor type of dogs.

Luckily, the expired rodent was out of the usual dog path around the yard, and for whatever reason, they didn’t see or smell it. Or maybe they did and they didn’t care. Moose and Winston are more the dogs of luxury, lay about the house type. In Tennessee, Winston once brought home a piece of what looked like a petrified squirrel pelt, and another time, a raw chicken breast, but other than that, there has been no true hunting skill or killer instinct exhibited by either dog. This is okay with me. 

The mouse lay there on the cracked concrete all day. Every time we went outside, I saw it, but I wasn’t ready to deal with it. It’s a little bit like last year when the newborn, featherless bird lay dead at the bottom of the rain spout below the bird nest. The dogs ignored it, and I spent the day debating what to do with it.

Today, it was decided to pick up the dead mouse with the poop scoop when I cleaned up the back yard after work before mowing the lawn. That is exactly what happened. Partly, anyway. I got the bucket and the scoop tool and picked up the dead mouse. I paused to study it in the plastic bag lined metal bucket. One of the legs seemed to be screwed up – even skinnier than the other legs, and twisted.

As the dried poop landed in the bucket near the mouse, I felt bad. Last year, the tiny dead bird was picked up with the trowel and buried under the rhododendron. This year, the dead mouse lay in the bottom of a bag of dog poop and was set in the trash. I felt mean, like the mouse was less than the bird and didn’t deserve a proper burial, but I was also concerned the mouse may have died from poison, and if it did, I didn’t want it planted in the yard. So sorry little mouse. 

After that, I didn't even mow the yard. It was just some of the lanky weeds that were tall, and it seemed like a waste of gas and effort to run the mower. Maybe this weekend.