I came downstairs this morning to find Finnegan having great fun tossing around one of his toys in play. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a dead mouse — the forth in as many months. I felt a mixture of sadness and relief. Sadness at the loss of a life. Relief that Finn is cleaning up the place; something we haven’t been able to do with all our have-a-heart traps.

We live in an old farm house. It’s been a great old house, full of laughter and love–and small furry critters. I don’t know which we have more of; mice or bats. It’s been an ongoing battle just to keep them in check. I don’t mind the bats so much; they earn their keep. We can sit out on our deck any time of year and not be bothered by insects of any kind. But the mice have got to go. Finding mouse poop in the silverware drawer is the last straw.

We didn’t get Finn specifically to tackle the mice, but now that he’s showing himself to be a good hunter, I hope the message gets back to all the other mice here: Pack up and find another home — or else!