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bear by san

March 2017



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drive train _ netcurmudgeon

see the revelation

The pantry smouse (one of the pantry smice, I suspect, as this one is a juvenile--no more than a hopper) trapped itself in the big stock pot on the bottom shelf. I found it because I heard it scurrying around in there and dug through stuff until I found it.)

Exhibit A: une smouse

Smouse 2010 02 19 003

Yes, I gave it water. I'm not a barbarian.

Now I have to figure out where to release the little dude. Probably in the woods down by the grain silo. That seems like a better environment for smouses than my pantry.

The GRD totally ignored the scurrying AND the smouse. Still not a terrier, mom.

(Tossing it out in the yard, of course, merely leads to smouse reintroduction to the home.)

Because I am lame, and it was sounding more and more like a dreaded chore and less and less like fun, I have bagged on the skiing trip tomorrow. I was always more interested in cross-country than downhill anyway. Although I make a point of taking any opportunity for new experience that presents itself (within reason and sanity) there's no reason to force yourself to do something you're pretty sure you're not going to like just to prove that you don't like it.

...even though I do keep trying gin martinis and brie, in case I've changed my mind.

Instead, I will stay home and work on my book, like a sensible Bear. That honestly sounds like more fun anyway, and much less stress, attention, and public humiliation.

Took the dog for a run this morning. Two miles, with relative comfort. Along the way, I worked out a major plot point for "Ligature," which, even if it is not the work I am meant to be doing, is work, and feels good to have done and done well.

Soon as they call, I'm going to go pick up the Moby Smurfberry at the car vet, which means a nice stroll downtown--nice, that is, if it does get up to the forties today, as we were promised. If it stays 26 and windy, not so much, though the truly bitter days of winter are probably over for 2010. 

Then the rest of the day is devoted to working on Grail in a sort of puttery desultory kind of way. Maybe I will finish Chapter 11, maybe I won't.

Maybe all this goalsetting is bad for me, and I need to just write what I am going to write and trust the novel to work itself out in my head.


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Eeeee! Such a cute little smouse! That bowl is bigger than the smouse, and now I have happy mental images of the cute little thing trying to climb into the bowl to drink. ^__^
I have a variety of rats and mice in my hen house. Had to relocate a very large rat a couple of nights ago (I think it was poisoned--its behaviour was...unusual). The smouse is adorable. Good luck with the relocation!
Alas! The kitchen is ruled by a Greate and Terrible Dogge, a Black Mastif of Unusual Ferocity, and Cats Do Not Go There On Peril Of Their Lives.
Awww, hello smouse!
I put it in a big pile of leaves, where I hope it will find insulation, food, and other smouses. If not, well, it's a wild animal, man. It's its own responsibility.
I love smice too, in their proper place, which is not in my kitchen eating my foods. That was why we got our first cat (see icon) and were never troubled with smice again -- other than the ones she caught outside and brought in to show us, of course! :)

As we don't have cats at the moment, I have to deal with smice myself by live trapping and releasing in a field somewhere and/or blocking up their access holes.

Desultory puttering sounds very pleasant actually.
Ah, when we had a small smouse problem last year Emily the Moldavian Leaping Hound strenuously avoided the whole issue. She only barks at invisible things, and passers-by. And me, at walk-time.
Mice can supposedly find their way back home up to approximately a mile away, so release them far far away.
aw, so cute!

sadly my main thought, lacking places to put mice other than "outside near the house" is .. "i have friends who have snakes"

mind you, i would probably end up keeping the idiot thing in a ten gallon aquarium, with a lid, and a bowl, and food..... smousey heaven.
because i am a sucker that way
A friend has several smouses from that philosophy.

Actually you don't want to feed wild smice to pet snakes, I am told, because the smouses might have a disease that the snake won't be able to fight off. Or something like that.
Looks rather like a white-footed deer mouse, from this one view. Tail too long for a meadow vole.
Yeah, it was either a white-footed mouse or a jumping mouse. I think white-footed, as they seem to be exclusively winter residents in this house.
Puttering at a novel rarely buggers up real people's real knees.
That was my thought. We sent one of our guys out to the office in Utah for some additional on-site training and they sent him back broken--they all went downhill skiing and he blew out his ACL. No more hockey for him, at least not this year.
Has Mary Kay Kare made you try a gin martini made with Plymouth gin? I hate gin and all its cousins, but found the Plymouth gin martini tolerable. Might even develop a taste, with practice.
Plymouth is just as disgusting as all other gin. Hendricks is slightly less disgusting--it does not make me want to scrape my tongue with a razor blade--but still gross.
He's cute, that smouse.

By the way, ET? I hate skiing...unless it involved a fireplace and hot beverages while the rest of them pound down the hill. Just saying. *grin*
Mmm. Beverages.

There's cocoa on the schedule for today.
It took Ista fully a year to get over the time we had a mouse. I would open the pantry, and she would trot over with this fake-casual air and wag her question wag (and sometimes make her question noise), all happy like, "Hey, remember the time there was a mouse in there? Wasn't that awesome? We could get a mouse in there again! Wouldn't that be awesome?"

But I am a mean monkey who thought it would not be awesome, so we repaired the hole in the foundation with concrete and meanness.

At least she got over it within a year. She is coming up on five years of religious belief that the laser pointer dot hides behind the bookshelves in markgritter's office. It hasn't done that in five years, but a poodle's faith is strong.
Oh and also: the secret to feeding me brie is to encrust it with lots and lots and lots of hazelnuts and good local honey. No, more hazelnuts than that. More. Still more.
I made a couple of attempts to learn skiiing a few years ago--I share your policy on new experiences. At the end of the day, I would be cold and wet and tired and bruised and miserable, and then my legs would ache for a week. I figured that once I got better at it, I would enjoy it.

Then I spent a day trying to learn hang gliding as a birthday treat. At the end of the day I was tired and bruised and sore, and I had been off the ground for about 5 seconds. And I loved it and was desperate for more. I decided that maybe I really didn't like skiiing.

Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to follow up on the flying love for budget reasons. But I remains confident that I would far rather have my shoulders hurt for a week after failing to hang glide, than have my legs hurt for a week after failing to ski.
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