One mouse down

I check the mouse traps in the morning. They haven't been touched.

I check the mouse traps in the afternoon. They haven't been touched.

I go out at night to feed the horses, walkie talkie on my chest. Carefully I look behind the feed bin at the traps. One of them is gone! My heart pounds. Where is it? I find it behind the oaten chaff bin. Mouse caught. Such a pity it's not the rat.

So now I need to get rid of the mouse. Carefully, with appropriate long range utensil, I open the trap. The mouse gently tumbles onto the floor, still soft in its movement. It's definitely dead, but as I put it onto the dust pan I half expect it to twitch or speak up. It does! "Are you right out there?", says Pete over the walkie talkie. I get such a fright I almost bounce the mouse straight into my face.

Rat!

We have a rat in the big shed. No doubt about it. We've always had mice, and I don't like them, but they don't cause much harm, and they do clean up the odd flake of oaten chaff. But a rat. He stinks. Big time. And he causes harm. He's already chewed through three plastic containers with fish fertilizer. And now he's chewed through my plastic container with barley. Enough is enough.

I set mouse traps. We've got a rat trap somewhere, but we can't find it right now. So mouse traps will have to do for now. Even if he just gets his paw stuck in it. How's he going to squeeze through his little escape hole with this trap dangling off his paw?

The packaging for the traps prides itself in high quality. One of the traps breaks as I'm setting it. I position it together with the other traps. Just in case. Fingers crossed.