Pollen is in the air. I wake up phlegmy. Spring is here.
I took this picture yesterday while cutting the grass. That much is pretty obvious. What's not obvious is that this is only 8 days of growth. I cut the grass on Thursday last week. It wasn't exactly knee-high or anything, but you're looking at easily 4+ inches taller than the
cut grass, which is about 2 inches tall.
As much as I love what spring means: Camping, Fishing, Sunshine, and that Summer, and with it Beach trips, is just around the corner — It also means things like lawn mowing, weed-whacking, and gardening — some of my least favorite warm weather activities.
Last night, as every other night, we let Moxie out to pee before bed. He couldn't have been outside for more than a minute before we started to get worried. He never takes this long.
Megan picked up Ollie — because if you're not paying attention while you stand with the back door open he'll sneak out between your legs — and poked her head out the door to call him. Almost immediately we could hear a faint squeaking.
She scanned the back yard to try and spot him — an almost impossible task when it's dark, because the light sucks (note to self: new flood light for back yard?) — and thought she saw him in a nearby corner, but he wasn't responding to her calls and even bribes with treats; a sure sign he was doing something he shouldn't be: usually either eating poop or killing something.
Megan was already in her pajamas so she told me to get my shoes on. By this time I was already on my way out the door. I knew what was happening. I found Moxie in the corner of the yard where the squeaking wasn't as faint as before, and he didn't even look up when I patted him on the back. He was "playing" with some yard guests.
I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away from the corner. He had something in his mouth, perhaps a mouse. I told him to drop it, thankfully he did (intentionally or not) and I dragged him unwillingly into the house. I explained what I saw to Megan — that it was very small and looked like it had a long-ish tail. I figured it was a mouse, but there was no question that it was injured.
We debated over what the humane thing to do was. If it was injured an unable to move, the best thing would be to kill it. The only things I could think of were to try and break its neck, or to stomp it —
neither of which I have the stomach to (easily) accomplish. Thankfully I wouldn't have to try. Megan got some shoes on and we went out to check out the damage. The mouse wasn't where I remembered Moxie dropping it, so we checked back over in the corner and found him crouched up against the house. He looked terrified and covered in slobber, but considering that he made it all the way back to the nest, he had a chance.
Further inspection of the area with a flashlight yielded two dead baby bunnies under a bush. Our mouse friend was a bunny. I picked up the two dead bunnies with a ziploc bag and put them in the trash, and we decided to see if the lone survivor would make it through the night, and check on him in the morning. Sleeping wasn't easy. I had just handled 2 dead baby bunnies, with soft fur, squishy bellies, and flat little ears like clover leaves. Try getting that out of your head sitting in the dark in silence.
He didn't make it.
I think I'm allergic to my deodorant.
