Kate and I both moved to the country, in part, because of a love for animals, so it’s kind of ironic to double-post about removing them. But thus is a part of life out here.
I don’t think I ever kill a mouse without thinking about the Robert Burns poem To a Mouse… – but not in a poetic way. Translated, it is Burns’ true account of the pain he felt upon turning over a mouse nests with his plow – knowing the little thing would perish as a result. Continue reading