Our neighborhood is in a relatively rural area so we get a small taste of country living with ducks occupying the community lakes, toads inhabiting flowerbeds, snakes making an appearance from time to time, and the distant howls of coyotes piercing the night sky. With the recent rains causing some area flooding, George and I were on the lookout for snakes that night. As we cut through the main park located next to the community pool, we heard some faint squeaking sounds coming from a hedgerow somewhat in the vicinity where our mama ducks nest. We shined our flashlights into the shrubs but couldn't see anything through the dense branches and leaves. I told George that it sounded like little ducklings gasping for air but there was no mama duck in sight. We just had to save the ducklings! As George continued to shine the light, I leaned in closer, squatting lower, nearly placing my face in the shrub but all for naught. The sound stopped so we decided to continue our walk. As soon as we went a few feet farther, we heard the same squeaking sound coming from another area of the hedgerow and from the same spot where we had originally stopped. There were at least two ducklings stuck in that hedgerow, separated from their mama who clearly was eaten by coyotes because she was nowhere to be found. I ran back to the original spot with George trailing close behind. I was determined to get my hands on those ducks and rescue them. I crouched even lower and made kissy sounds trying to coax the ducklings out of the bushes, because we all know wild ducks come waddling as fast as they can when they hear kissy sounds. I all but put my whole head in the shrubbery getting as close to the sound as I could when George said, "Hey, look at that big fat dead mouse over there." All at once everything I ever learned in preschool came flooding back to mind stopping with the knowledge that ducks quack and mice SQUEAK! And just like that, I sprang to my feet and we were out of there! Mice, of course. There wasn't a nest of abandoned ducklings...it was a nest of mice...and I'm not talking about cute little Cinderella mice with their tiny little clothes and eagerness to do chores...these guys were big fat country corn-fed naked mice! Why else would there be snakes in our neighborhood if not to eat those big fat mice?! At that point, I was no longer walking but rather high stepping it as fast as I could lest those critters tried to grab hold of my shoelaces!
On side note, when I was a small child, my family had a friend, an older woman named Mary Lou, who had grown up on a farm. She told me that when she was young girl there had been a night in which she had awakened to find field mice in her bed chewing on her toenails. Can you just imagine?! I give this precious woman credit for my fear of all rodents and for my absolute need to sleep with my feet under the covers.
As we continued our brisk walk, we found ourselves on one of the streets that outlines the perimeter of our neighborhood and therefore backs up to a lake and a wooded area. Making our way down the sidewalk and dodging the low hanging tree branches, we heard that now familiar squeak again, but this time it was coming from the midsection of a live oak tree thick with leaves and branches. I looked at George, my eyes wide with fear, "Do mice climb trees?" To which he replied, "I imagine so. How else are they going to eat the bird eggs?" Are you kidding me?!
This whole experience has rounded out my fear of rodents, so not only do I always sleep with my feet under the covers but now when George and I walk in the evenings, I walk in the street, avoiding the tree lined sidewalks because frankly, I don't think I would survive a mouse falling from the tree and landing on my person. No, thank you!
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