One thing you can always count on when living on a farm is mice. It is just a plain fact of life. In the barn, in the shops and yes, in the house. No matter how clean you keep the house when you’re surrounded by nothing but farm ground, pasture land and wide open spaces, mice are inevitable. I refuse to use poison to attempt to control the situation. Not only would it put my beloved dogs at risk, but it is also harmful for other wild life, especially the hawks and falcons and eagles. And there is still something about the idea of bleeding to death internally that sets my ethics radar off.

With that being said, I have been relying on traps in the house and have recently secured a cat who is promised to be an excellent hunter and she is pregnant with hopefully a brood of more hunters. I have high hopes for Roxy and her kittens. There is also a rather large bull snake that patrols the property and I wish him well. The best way to fight nature is with nature. Natural predators are always the way to go in my book when it comes to pests.

Tonight however, there was and incident. As I was sitting in relative quiet with my dogs watching tv as a storm blew in we all jumped at the tell tale “snap” from the kitchen. I sighed and slowly decided to get up from the couch. Cleaning traps is down right nasty. I’m not afraid of mice but I certainly don’t like them and they creep me out a little. But, the trapping has slowed a little so it’s getting better around the house anyway. So I begrudgingly wandered to the kitchen to dispose of the little thief. I moved the trash can away from the corner and there he was, staring back at me, frightened out of his poor little mind, with a broken back in the trap. My heart sank.

I’m probably the only person in the world that would feel for that poor little mouse. But if it lives and breaths I can always sum up compassion for it. Here he was, terrified, in pain, trapped and I had to end his suffering. I had to be rather creative about it too, because he was right in the position to bite me if I tried to pick up the trap and I wanted to reuse the trap so I ended up using a broom handle to hook the trap to carry him outside and I’m glad I did because he indeed tried to bite the handle. He was still fighting for his little life.

Once outside, followed by the wild curiosity of my dogs, I was able to finagle him out of the trap without getting bit so I could ultimately find a way to quickly end his life. Fortunately for us both, I didn’t need to. As soon as the trap released he gasped and twitched and died. I assume his lungs filled with fluid perhaps at the release of pressure? Either way it was very quick and I was relieved he was no longer scared or suffering.

I absolutely, one hundred percent do not feel guilty about killing mice. It’s just the reality of living “out here”. I don’t feel guilty about killing a lot of things to be honest. I eat meat, enjoy hunting, have had to end the life of many animals for humane reasons. But if there is one thing I cannot handle it is suffering. If I know anything, I know they feel pain and fear. And if I cannot end their life quickly and humanely it deeply disturbs me. What I don’t understand is how people can feel compassion for some and not others.  Offering dogs and cats empathy, but not mice and rabbits.  It just doesn’t make sense to me. Those little black eyes put me in a funk tonight. I know it was “just a mouse”, and no one cares but me. Yes I’m the girl that felt bad for the little mouse. Yes I’m the girl bothered by the suffering I caused. And no, I won’t feel bad for the empathy in my heart.