I have a barn, with two old ponies. One is so old, he lives on horse pellets and sweet feed, because he has no teeth to chew grass or hay with.
But with barns come mice. Now, I don’t mind mice. They’re just trying to get along, raise their families, have their little mouse parties. And I’m a sucker for anything small and furry. So, while I keep my feed in bins because I don’t like the mess they make when they chew through the feed bag, I don’t mind sharing a bit with them.
Except that, when the level in the bind gets too low, they jump in and can’t get out. So, this morning, when I went out to feed the ponies, I found what I think were five mice trapped in the bin.
Don’t mind the squeaking–they haven’t been trapped in a bit, and have sort of forgotten me. You can tell this isn’t the first ride on the merry-go-round for the first three, though. They know exactly what to do when I put the scoop in the bin.
And that one mouse that ran over my head? Does it every time, without fail. Don’t know what his problem is.