A Weed Whacker, 2 Groundhogs, and a Mouse

I hate rodents. I developed this opinion during my military duty. I was dozing happily in my sleeping bag, on a cot, in a GP medium, in a middle eastern Country that shall not be named, when I was awakened by the sensation of something crawling on my stomach. It was a rat.

In reflection, I'm glad it was on the outside of the bag, because if the damned thing had gotten inside, there's no telling how much therapy I would still need now, or who might have been wounded as I blasted away at the damn thing with my rifle. (yes, I slept with my loaded rifle in me hands, for reasons I'd rather not have to explain.)

Anyway, that was decades ago in a place far away, but yesterday (Wednesday) as I was mowing the lawn, I caught sight of a mouse squeezing its' fat useless self under the garage door on my side. Damn. the garage is connected to the kitchen. if I don't take immediate action, it won't be long until they are in the pantry, and I'm having none of that. Granted, I understand why the mice moved, the Hawk that lives in the treeline out back has decimated the Squirrel/Chipmunk population into near extinction. It isn't safe for nature's smaller critters in the food chain back there. Sometimes when I'm out in the yard, I hear the Hawk's cry, and I swear that it's almost like a bald eagle. It is a beautiful creature, and you can see the humongous nest from our bathroom window. Hell, maybe it is an Eagle, I'll have to try and get a picture one of these times.

So I have to address the Mouse problem. There's no evidence along the garage walls that Mickey, or Minnie, or any other Mouseketeers have come any further than just inside the overhead door, and I think they might be building a future home inside the Red metal paint cabinet. So I'm cleaning that out Saturday, and I'm going to check my old wooden Army footlocker in the corner to see if they have infiltrated that. I'm not George Bush after Osama bin Laden, I'm Chris Casey, and that damned Al Queda mouse is dead meat, him, his family, and all his lieutenants! I'm not waiting for Mr. Hawk, eagle, or whatever, I'm doing it myself. And screw using humane traps. It's glue traps, because they are cheap! So the Mouseketeers are on Notice!

In other news, sometimes I get hard lessons on why I should take my own advice.
So here it is, Wednesday afternoon, and I fire up the weed whacker to take care of some trim work. Shoot, I forgot to change into my steel toed shoes. Oh well, I don't have that much to do. I hit my toe last week, surely I won't do that again, right?

OWWWWWWWWW!

Same toe, same shoes, and this time it hurt like hell. Note to self: Always wear the Steel Toed Shoes when working with Weed whacker/ Lawn Mower.

It's bad enough that the cooler, damp weather is making my titanium hip throb at night while I'm laying in bed, But now I'm aggravated that my right knee is aching from recent sprains and swelling, and to accompany that my right Achilles heel is getting all arthritic from having stepped backwards into a groundhog hole while mowing. (Groundhogs, now there's another Vermin I would like to use firearms on). So I've got pain, and it makes me cranky, but Mrs. C, she a blessed Saint, she is, putting up with me.

Speaking of Groundhogs, if you happen to go to Fairview Cemetery, and happen to see a groundhog with a big splatch of red paint on his ass, his name is Bernie, If you see one with yellow paint on her head, her name is Joan. I hope to get pictures of the happy couple, but in the meantime, should they get captured in one of the traps beforehand, that would be okay too.
I have no idea how the hell they got paint on them, but it makes it easier for me to tell who is who. If it was up to me, I'd send the fat furry rodent bastards down to the Homeless shelter to turn into stew, but that's probably politically incorrect, so that's out of the question.