This morning, I was horrified when a mouse ran out of my pantry. Upon inspection of the contents, I found evidence that my happy home has become a food bank for needy rodent families.
I called my husband in tears, and demanded that he bring home the needed artillary in the War Against Rodentkind-- traps, poisons, and Tupperwear boxes in which to store all of the food in the pantry. Being the good man that he is, he left work to do my bidding, and helped to clean out the cabinets.
My husband bought live traps, and my grandmother brought over a selection of poison. I had wanted to go with live traps alone, but my grandmother argued hotly that poison was the only way to rid myself of my new houseguests. I was torn with sympathy, telling her that it’s not their fault God ended up making them into mice, and they’re just doing what mice do . . . Should that merit a death sentence?
My choice was to catch them in the live traps, and then drive them to the park and release them (which I’ll still do if they happen into the live trap.)
That is, until one of the little cretins ran from his hiding place over my foot. After that, out came the poison. I laid out an incongruous mixture of live traps and D-Con. I would let Fate decide, I told myself, whether an individual mouse took a bite of death, or won an all-expenses-paid trip to the local State Park and freedom in the wilds.
My main concern, besides a niggling sympathy, is that my dog may find a poisoned mouse and eat it. Grandma insists that they’ll try to die out of sight, not where the dog, or any other local outdoor wildlife might happen upon them, and even if my dog did eat a poisoned corpse, the amount of poison that killed the mouse probably wouldn’t be enough to hurt a 50 pound dog. As long as I keep the poison itself inaccessible, I don’t have anything to worry about.
I’m torn. What should I do? I still do feel sorry for the poor mice, who, after all, are just, you know,* trying to make a living.* I can’t have them in my house, of course. They’re nasty, and their droppings befouled my cabinets. My grandmother warned me in dire tones that if I don’t do something now, they’ll take over. (Which gave me my only laugh of the day-- imagining coming home to find a large mouse on my couch, watching TV.) The only way to be mouse-free is to lay poison.
Is she right? Will my live traps work if all of the food is inaccessible? Do I need to be worried about my dog? Besides getting a cat, what’s the best way to be mice-free?