TAE A MOOSE

I know, I know, it's a field mouse, eeek, but this is probably my one chance at getting a wildlife shot. The donkey I saw yesterday can wait.

Look at those tattered ears. This little creature has been in the wars. What sort of animal tore one ear and nibbled on the other? Himself brought the mouse upstairs at just before bedtime at one a.m., photo ready in a glass jar. Unfortunately, Himself chose a thick jar and I didn't have the wit to change it until I saw the results of the first pics. By then, I didn't have the will to change it. Poor little wretch. It had been under the lights long enough.

A minor cat fight took place in the room at the same time because the feral cat came in through the window I'd left ajar for Tigger. Two cats in the room while trying to focus on a mouse in a jar with the lid half open is not exactly what is needed. The dogs were in a frenzy next door, having heard the cat spat.

After I'd taken at least 50 useless shots, the mouse was transported down the hill in the night to a wood pile about two kms away. A supply of sunflower seeds was provided.

This poem by Robert Burns has a lot of wisdom in it. I don't expect anybody to read it but it's here, just in case.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I was be laith to rin an'chase thee,
Wi' murdring prattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle at me,
thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
"S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin wi the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin
An' naething, now, to big an new ane,
O' loggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
in proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang oft a-gley.
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain
For promised joy.

Still thou art blessed, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

For the record: +14 Cloudy