So on Monday night, Raph had a hockey game. Apparently he hasn't play hockey very recently because when we was packing up his gear he found a mouse nest with three itty bitty baby mice. Now let me be clear about how I feel about mice: I don't like em. I spend a lot of energy every summer trapping red squirrels, chipmunks, voles, and mice and relocating them across bodies of water so they don't come back. I am thrilled every year when I see the short-tailed weasel come back (cause they take care of the problem!) or a hawk circling above. Still, when these little babes became our problem, I wasn't prepared to be responsible for their demise. At first we put them in a basket back in the shed hoping the mom would come back to them (so that I could then trap them in a few months and relocate them.) This didn't seem to happen, however, and it was pretty chilly out there, so we brought them in. Raph tried to feed them out of the kids' medicine syringe, but they weren't really going for it. I spent a little time yesterday morning reading what needs to be done to keep baby mice alive. I was really unprepared to buy special formula, to massage their bellies so they could go to the bathroom, or to get up with them every hour. (Did I mention here how this would lead to me trapping them later this summer?) And yet, could I let the little things die right in front of the kids' eyes? No. I worried about it all morning, and then it occured to me to call the Center for Wildlife in York. So I did and amazingly, they took them! They were even excited about it! They had another mama mouse with babies about the same age. I couldn't believe it! And I don't even have to trap them later this summer!
