I grew up in an old stone farm house. Every fall when it started getting cold, the field mice would come in, seeking warmth. Happens all the time, all over the world.
What also happened in my house was the annual setting of the mousetraps in the pantry. Back then the only choice was the spring-loaded ones. You know, the kind with the little platform for bait and the bar that would then hopefully snap the poor mouse’s neck instantly.
My dad’s bait of choice was always peanut butter. Worked well too. He’d set out traps on the shelves, they’d do their thing, he’d go back and dispose of them. Only problem was there would inevitably be the one that didn’t do the job quite as well as it should have. The trapped mouse would still be alive enough to struggle, finally falling off the shelf into the bottom of the closet, dragging the trap with it as it sought to escape.
Oh it would die eventually. And then it would start to rot. With a glob of peanut butter left along with it. Yeah, real appetizing smell, rancid peanut butter and moldy mice.
There, now you know why I dislike peanut butter so much. The smell of a freshly opened jar takes me back to searching the closet for the one that tried to get away.
What also happened in my house was the annual setting of the mousetraps in the pantry. Back then the only choice was the spring-loaded ones. You know, the kind with the little platform for bait and the bar that would then hopefully snap the poor mouse’s neck instantly.
My dad’s bait of choice was always peanut butter. Worked well too. He’d set out traps on the shelves, they’d do their thing, he’d go back and dispose of them. Only problem was there would inevitably be the one that didn’t do the job quite as well as it should have. The trapped mouse would still be alive enough to struggle, finally falling off the shelf into the bottom of the closet, dragging the trap with it as it sought to escape.
Oh it would die eventually. And then it would start to rot. With a glob of peanut butter left along with it. Yeah, real appetizing smell, rancid peanut butter and moldy mice.
There, now you know why I dislike peanut butter so much. The smell of a freshly opened jar takes me back to searching the closet for the one that tried to get away.
