Smack in the middle of his mid-year review, my husband spotted a tiny field mouse scurry across the back wall of his boss's office (there are major renovations taking place at my husband's office building which explains, but does not justify the presence of a small rodent).
Good decision-making skills run in the family, leading my husband to interrupt the meeting to catch the mouse, which he did successfully. His boss witnessed the capture from the top of her desk.
After serving as his department's mascot for the rest of the afternoon, the mouse was treated to a road trip. At the end of his journey, he was met by three jubilant members of the neighborhood welcome wagon.
"I've always wanted a pet mouse," said Camber.
"If we get a snake, the mouse could be its food," suggested Cortlen.
"Mr. Mouse is going to live outside," I said, crushing my children's hopes and dreams.
After watching the mouse run laps around the box for five minutes, we decided that it was time to grant the small rodent his hard-earned freedom.
"What should we do with it?" my husband asked me.
That was a very difficult question to answer since our neighborhood butts up to a wooded preserve.
My husband did not feel comfortable releasing the mouse into the woods behind our house, but he did feel comfortable letting the rodent go in our weird neighbor's yard across the street.* That seemed sensible enough, so I released the hounds.
"Gently dump the mouse in the woods behind Marge's house," I told the kids.
Tim and I stood on our driveway watching the solemn procession to the tree line. Kellen was smiling because he was carrying the box; Camber and Cortlen were crying because they were not.
All went well until Tim spotted Marge watching the processional from her front window.
"Stop! Come back here!" he yelled at our kids in his best neighborhood watch voice. But it was too late. The kids were already running at full speed toward the tree line. Having given it his best shot, Tim retreated to the garage, where he hid behind his lawnmower.
"Hey Marge," I said, sauntering up her driveway. "How are you today?"
Marge responded by slamming the door in my face. At least she wasn't mad. We got the same reaction last December when we brought her Christmas cookies.
*In our measley defense, the wooded area behind Marge's house is much deeper and more dense than that behind our house.
Good decision-making skills run in the family, leading my husband to interrupt the meeting to catch the mouse, which he did successfully. His boss witnessed the capture from the top of her desk.
After serving as his department's mascot for the rest of the afternoon, the mouse was treated to a road trip. At the end of his journey, he was met by three jubilant members of the neighborhood welcome wagon.
"I've always wanted a pet mouse," said Camber.
"If we get a snake, the mouse could be its food," suggested Cortlen.
"Mr. Mouse is going to live outside," I said, crushing my children's hopes and dreams.
After watching the mouse run laps around the box for five minutes, we decided that it was time to grant the small rodent his hard-earned freedom.
"What should we do with it?" my husband asked me.
That was a very difficult question to answer since our neighborhood butts up to a wooded preserve.
My husband did not feel comfortable releasing the mouse into the woods behind our house, but he did feel comfortable letting the rodent go in our weird neighbor's yard across the street.* That seemed sensible enough, so I released the hounds.
"Gently dump the mouse in the woods behind Marge's house," I told the kids.
Tim and I stood on our driveway watching the solemn procession to the tree line. Kellen was smiling because he was carrying the box; Camber and Cortlen were crying because they were not.
All went well until Tim spotted Marge watching the processional from her front window.
"Stop! Come back here!" he yelled at our kids in his best neighborhood watch voice. But it was too late. The kids were already running at full speed toward the tree line. Having given it his best shot, Tim retreated to the garage, where he hid behind his lawnmower.
"Hey Marge," I said, sauntering up her driveway. "How are you today?"
Marge responded by slamming the door in my face. At least she wasn't mad. We got the same reaction last December when we brought her Christmas cookies.
*In our measley defense, the wooded area behind Marge's house is much deeper and more dense than that behind our house.
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12 comments
Thank you for the good laugh to start my day with. Great post and once again you made me think back to simular incidents with my kids when they were growing up.
After reading the last 2 post I hav come to the conclusion that ya'll are the best, most funnest, coolest family ever! Could you PLEASE move to our neighborhood?!
bwahahaha! you're a riot! Thanks for the morning laugh. I needed one today. :) ~sharon
One time a prank war escalated into six mice being placed in my apartment in the middle of the night. Don't ask... it was good times getting rid of those things, let me tell you.
Poor Marge! Just bring her some more cookies to make up for it!
p.s. Happy Bday!
Hee hee, You got caught! :) Oh well.
I love the look of your blog
Go check out my blog for Thursday...I left you something. ;)
I have a glimmering suspicion that you enjoyed annoying Marge… and that’s exactly what I love about you!!! Oh what I wouldn’t do to live a day in your shoes! Or at least be a fly on the wall! LOL
Have to say, I loved that your husband hid behind the lawn mower. You are great!
I am laughing only because my husband released a harmless huge oak snake in much the same manner....
Karen et. al.:
Wouldn't it be awesome if we all lived in the same neighborhood? How fun would that be?
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