Archives: Mouse Hunt 2007

No toes touch the floor!

Homeschooling is a 24/7 experience. Don’t worry if you didn’t cover all the subjects today. Forgot science? That’s OK. You can always study nature close up by going on a  . . . mouse hunt.

Just when I thought it would be a quiet, relaxing evening, the phone rings . . .
It’s Kristel, my dear daughter (DD). “Mom! Is Andrew (DD’s younger brother) there? Can he help Sean move the piano? A mouse ran under it!” (panic-stricken voice)

Andrew and I quickly run across the street to the rescue (armed only with my digital camera. I’m not about to let this Kodak moment go by).

Upon our arrival, the first thing I see is Kristel standing on the couch, baby in arm, pointing to the piano. “It’s under there! I saw it! It hasn’t come out yet.” She has made all the kids find a “high spot.” No toes on the floor.

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Sean, who has just walked in the door from a long day at work, says, “Can I eat dinner first?”
Uh…no.

So Sean and Andrew push the piano aside, while I stand armed with my camera to catch a shot of this loathsome creature. Kristel watches safely from her perch. I think she is throwing away a perfectly good opportunity for an up-close “nature” moment, but she couldn’t care less right now.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

DGS (Nathan) is finally allowed to hold the broom–just in case the mouse sneaks out the front of the piano.

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Armed with those new-fangled sticky traps, Sean and Andrew are ready to pounce as well.

Success! Well, sort of. I’m afraid the furry ball of trouble is too fast for my camera. It skitters across the carpet, over my foot, and slips and skids and flips into the kitchen and . . . under the oven.

“Hmmm . . . we’re going to have to think on this awhile.” While Sean and Andrew are thinking, the mouse is moving . . . up, up, up between the oven and the cabinet. Kristel sits on the bar stool and waits. The mouse must be caught tonight. I shiver to think what kind of night my poor DD will pass if Mickey Mouse is allowed to wander free in her house one more day.

Finally, I abandon my camera and help Andrew pull the oven out, while Sean waits topside with a bucket, in case the mouse decides to flee up instead of out. 

He goes up. Sean goes after him. Mickey Mouse goes down. Andrew jams a small broom under the oven. Mouse goes up. Sean goes after him. Mouse goes down . . . again. (This is good for a lesson on using group dynamics to solve a problem.) Now, thoroughly confused, Mickey Mouse darts for freedom.

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WHACK! Andrew to the rescue . . . almost. He slaps the rectangular sticky trap at the mouse, catching  it by the tail. “I need another trap!” he yells. (This boy has leadership ability!)
Sean tosses him a trap.
 
WHACK! Andrew to the rescue again. He’s got the little fellow between 2 sticky traps.Ick.

I still think Mickey Mouse is good for a few minutes of observation. Look at those eyes! (He’s still alive at this point.) Maybe we can do a quick lesson on mouse measuring?
 
Sigh. Kristel’s homeschool curriculum does not include mice of any kind . .  .  dead or alive.

What Do You Do with All Those Goat Kids?

Kristel and Chad bottle-feeding a couple of kids for "fun"

I have been at a couple of homeschool conferences two weekends in a row, so I dug into the archives to find a story from our past "rural town" homesteading days. Here is an old post from a couple of years ago:

Awhile ago, I was reading a blog about a "Goat Lady." It was fascinating to learn the woman raises 400 goats! They were for meat, which reminded me of our one-time adventure with goat meat.

First of all, let me say that I LOVE dairy goats–they are right up there with my all-time favorite farm residents, the low-maintenance chicken.

Now, to keep a steady supply of goat milk coming, you have to breed the does. I milked two nubian goats steadily, and each doe was faithful to produce two or three kids every year. Most were bucks. My husband and I thought, "Ah-ha! Here is an easy source of free meat, much like lamb." (Another story about that. We raised sheep too).

Kristel and a little friend

"Free" meat is never free. And it is easier said then done to get a supply. After disbudding and castrating the little bucks, we allowed them to grow strong and healthy on all the free milk (we separated them at night, and I only milked once a day). Two goats give a LOT of milk for one family! At about two months of age, we figured they were just about "cookin’ size." So, we butchered them. Ourselves. What a mess. Goat kids don’t have near the amount of meat per pound as does a fat little lamb. It was a LOT of work to dress the kids and cut them up. And the flavor wasn’t like lamb. It was more gamey—more like venison. It wasn't tender, either. But is WAS free. Sort of. If you don't count labor (never count labor in your idea of what is free when it comes to the farm).

It took us one time to decide that eating our own goat kids was SO not worth the time and mess. From then on, we kept them for 2 months, loaded them into the truck, and hauled them to the Sales Barn (livestock auction), where the Asians snatched them up for a tidy sum—which helped pay for hay and grain for the milking goats. A MUCH better trade-off! 

Coyotes and Chickens and Kids, Oh, My!

I'm in Nampa (Idaho) for the CHOIS homeschool convention, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to tell some of my favorite homestead stories from the past. Years ago, we had a one-acre homestead "farm" in rural western Washington, where we raised chickens, dairy goats, sheep, a yearly beef calf, meat rabbits, angora rabbits, a pair of geese, and even a horse for a season (not everything at the same time!), plus the usual cats.

So, take a ride in my time machine and enjoy this first Blast from the Past:

One morning, not so many years ago, my 8-year-old daughter, Kristel, came screaming into the house with an empty egg basket (her morning chore was collecting eggs). "There's a coyote eating our chickens!" she shrieked. 

Without a thought, I snatched up the first thing I came across--a broom--and tore out of the house. Indeed, the chicken yard looked like a war zone. The hens were ravished! Infuriated at this wanton act of destruction, I looked around for the culprit. Sure enough, there he was with a chicken in his mouth. I ran after him, hollered, and whacked at him. He dropped the chicken and took off. 

 But not for long . . . Soon (and I mean a few minutes later) the coyote was back for the breakfast he'd dropped on the run. Enough of this, I thought. So I went into the closet and got out the .22 pistol. I slammed in the clip, told the kids to stay in the house, and went out in the front yard. There he was, not more than 15 feet away, with another chicken in his mouth. He looked at me--daring me to take action.

That did it! We lived inside the city limits, but I didn't care if I shouldn't be shooting off guns in town. I took aim and shot at the coyote. He didn't drop dead. He didn't drop the chicken. He didn't yelp. He didn't move. He just looked at me. Another shot. Same reaction. I began to think I was firing blanks. Two more shots. Missed again. 

Then, apparently disgusted with my poor marksmanship, he trotted off---chicken still in his mouth. We never saw him again.

Moral: If you're going to shoot a coyote, try some target practice first.

Kristel around the time of the coyote incident: