Ro-Dog the Protector...
At first I thought the mice were bad. Ro-Dog the Great Orange Hunter was beginning to show that his feline genes would not be denied. Sure, he still acted like a dog most of the time. He followed along with the group on our beach walks. He anxiously sought out affection from anyone who sat down on a chair or a sofa. He wrestled with the border collie with fierce abandon as if he weighed fifty pounds himself. But the cat within him would not be denied.
One day I was sitting at the computer desk when I caught a blur of dark motion out of the corner of my eye. It seemed like something had skittered along the baseboard. Sure enough, just a few moments later Ro-Dog came by with the tiny little mouse in his jaws. He brought it right to me, and dropped it at my feet. I was torn between recognizing his talent and being appalled at his cruelty. That was when the mouse took off running again. He didn’t want to show me what a great mouse killer he was. He thought I would much prefer to witness his prowess at mouse CATCHING. Of course he hadn’t really thought about the perfect cover provided by a spinet piano. The mouse ran under the piano. Rory sat down and eyed the piano suspiciously from a distance of about 8 feet. I thought about lifting the piano up, to give Rory (or maybe the mouse) a better chance to conclude their drama. Then I recalled that I had left my cape in the trunk of the car and that the 700 pound piano would likely defeat me. And even if I managed to lift a corner, I had this mental visual of setting it down on the mouse. I doubted his ability to worm his way out of that situation. This had been fun and all, but I did have stuff to do, so I left the Ro-Dog to his vigil and went about my day.
Much later that night, as I got ready for bed, I saw Ro-Dog in his same position, staring the piano into submission. But I had to get some sleep. As much as I hated to go to bed without knowing the end of this story, I couldn’t maintain Rory’s fascination for the immobile and somewhat dusty piano. I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Ro was off on other adventures. Since I found no mouse anywhere, I had to conclude that I would never really know what happened. Moving the piano seemed like a bad idea, since the absence of mouse would still not tell me much. But I couldn’t stand it. I moved the piano anyway. No mouse. Which told me exactly what I knew it would tell me: nothing. I forgot about that particular mouse.
Two days later, lying in the bath with my current novel in my hands and a double shot of scotch on the tub rail, (life doesn’t get much better than this, huh?), I once again saw the gray motion in my peripheral vision. It was a mouse again. But this one was mouse-zilla. It looked like a hamster without as much personality. No tail. I didn’t know if that was standard equipment or a Ro-Dog modification. But I was pretty sure I didn’t want him there. Still, I wasn’t going to be content just shooing him out of the bathroom. Who knows where he might go? Certainly not under the piano. This guy wouldn’t have fit. I supposed he might have lifted a corner up and scooted under, but I doubted it. So I bravely leaped from the tub (got the visual?) and sideslipped the mouse or whatever it was on my way to the broom closet; dripping, mumbling endearing obscenities about my cat, and nearly slipping on the ceramic tile.
When I got back to the bathroom, the gray hamster was still there, but beginning to explore the perimeter. I pressed him gently to the floor with a broom and then carefully slid a dustpan under him. Pressing these two items together like terribly mis-matched chopsticks, I escorted him to the front door. Once there I dropped the broom and made him the first mouse in space with a flick of the wrist holding the dustpan. There was about 6” of snow on the ground, and I knew that was going to be a challenge for the fuzzy little wanna-be rat, but I also knew it would provide a soft landing. I saw him plop into the snow on the patio, and then he scuttled off on the surface, heading in the general direction of the chimney. I wished him my best, or at least the best I could muster standing in several inches of snow in my recently very warm and now very cold feet. I was glad we live in a remote area so there were no neighbors to muse about this naked, dripping, dustpan wielding crazy man standing on his porch in the snow.
Like I said, I thought the mice were bad. But there are other more frightening creatures at the beach. Read all about Ro-Dog’s beach safari in Starfish Hunter.