Being a farm girl has it's perks. Such as, having space to grow a vegetable and flower garden. Having a huge yard for a dog to run around. Looking out my kitchen window at a beautiful pasture & old rustic barn every morning. I also get to decorate an old farmhouse, which has so much character that I really just feel like I add to the story.
There are also come downsides, one of which I had the chance to experience last night. I have a sensitive sense of smell. I enjoy candles and anything that smells clean. But there are certain smells that just get me, every time. Dead animals are one of them. Mice in particular. Mice are naturally kind of gross little guys, scurrying around and showing up when you least expect it.
For the past couple days, I kept on thinking I was smelling a dead mouse. It's happened before, but was in the wall so there was nothing we could do. Kind of gross, but comes with the territory of living in an old farmhouse. But the Hubs never smelt it. But I knew it. I just did. There was a dead mouse.
Finally, last night, Remington and I were holding down the fort at home- in other words- I was cleaning and doing laundry. I could not handle the smell any longer. Determined to find the source of the smell, I decided to look in a grate that goes to the underbelly of the farmhouse and is an excellent storage place for dust bunnies and spiders. After vacuuming out the grate, pulling up the screen that keeps mice from coming out of the grate and onto the main floor (not that it's ever happened), I found the source of stench. A dead mouse. That had fallen prey to peanut butter and a mouse trap.
I had found it and hadn't really planned what to do next. Maybe I didn't think that I'd actually find anything, but now that I had, I couldn't just leave it there! So, being the brave wannabe-farm girl that I am, I got one of the Hubs' work gloves (the padded kind so that I hopefully wouldn't feel what I was picking up). Coaching myself with deep breathes and words of encouragement like: "you got this," "ok, here we go," "don't think about it." I started to reach in and for no logical reason completely lost all nerve and may have let out a little scream.
Remington of course wanted in on the action at this point and came over to make sure I wasn't dying or being eaten alive by spiders (oh, did I mention I saw 4? Yup, 4.). The smell was so bad, he just laid down behind me and I'm sure he was silently laughing at my pitiful attempt to dispose of a small field mouse.
Not able to simply reach in the grate and grab the little guy, I did the next logical thing. I grabbed my kitchen tongs (yes, the same ones I use to flip my chicken), and decided that would be the best solution. Looking back, it may not have been my most sane moment. Looking back, I realize that was super gross and am mowing considering skipping the cleaning with bleach and just throwing them out. Regardless, the tongs worked great. I got that little mouse, almost threw up when I moved it and quickly put it in the trash bag.
Yup, I am successfully turning into a country girl. Just don't tell anyone how many times I gagged. It's embarrassing.
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