Of mice and men and well… more mice.

When you live in the north you live somewhat closer to nature than most people. I am about as likely to see a bear as most city people are to see a neighbor walking a dog. On any given day I can see eagles and wolves a fox or a beaver. These don’t bother me. I admit you do make adjustments in your lifestyle. You are cognizant of the bears and you make noises as you walk through the bush so as not to surprise them. You watch the foxes as they can have rabies. But life goes on and you accept these as part of life in so remote a place. In fact I revel in their presence. I love to see a moose across the river. I love seeing a rabbit scurry across my path when I am out for an evening walk. This is one of the things that make life up here special. This close bond, this living side by each with the wild creatures of nature.
This is because we have a special love of cute furry critters. Or large majestic creatures like moose and caribou and wood bison. There is something breathtaking about watching a bison the size of a compact car cruising through the long grass only its’ head and humped shoulders separating the grass like a surfaced submarine. Or the sight of a moose sedately munching water plants at the edge of a northern pond, the morning mist making him look surreal in his ungainly glory. But what of those other creatures? Those critters without publicity agents and spin doctors to create warm fuzzy feelings when they cross our paths? What about the creatures who scurry and hide? Furtive and, well scary creatures. Creatures that not only share our world, but often share our house and God knows what else.
Ron was just out of the city. He was new to the north and was out on his own for the first time in his life. A fledging just pushed from his parents nest in Moose Jaw Saskatchewan. Young and still wet behind the ears. Thrust into the boreal forest in northern Alberta, as far north as you could go and still be in Alberta. This was throwing someone in at the deep end. Sink or swim. Fly or fall. When plunging from the nest to the ground the wind sailing past you as you fall that space behind the ears can dry pretty fast.
“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaayoweeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” Ron screamed as he shot into the living room. It was three in the morning and I was instantly out of my bed at the opposite end of the trailer. Ron was standing in the middle of the room in his Toronto Maple Leaf pajamas. He had his hands folded over his chest like he was shivering. He was shivering. “What’s up? Are you O.K.?” I blurted. Ron was stammering and looked like he had seen a ghost. “No I am not O.K.!” He said angrily. “I woke up and it was right there, staring me in the face!” My mind raced. What could have instantly struck terror into this young guy? What kind of beast had bared its fangs, roared in his face? What could strike terror into a grown adult male? There were no shortage of options, from grizzlies to wolves, from wolverines to coyotes, “There!!!” He yelled and pointed behind me. Oh my God, I thought as I turned, I hadn’t even had time to get my gun. As I spun I crouched spreading my legs so as to bear the weight of whatever might be about to set upon me. I eyed the knife block on the counter. Pe3rhaps I could get a few slashes in before it leapt. But when I stopped I saw nothing. My eyes were not fully adjusted to the darkened room. “Hit the lights!” I yelled and Ron sprang to the switch. The room burst into light. Then I saw it as it shot across the floor and ran along the base board. It disappeared down the heating register. “A mouse!” I yelled. “You woke me out of a sound sleep for a mouse?” I looked Ron right in the eye. “He was on my chest when I woke up! He was staring right into my eyes! I freaked!” He was still shaking.
I began to feel bad for him. “Look Ron, you are always eating in bed. The crumbs attract them. Don’t leave a half full bowl of cheezies or chips on the dresser. Put them away and you won’t see the mice. Not on your chest anyways.” Ron was calming down now. “Not see them? Does that mean they will go away?” He was pleading. “No that does not mean that they will go away.” I answered. “We live in a warm place, full of holes and nooks and crannies. They come from outside where it is forty five below zero. Where last falls seeds and nuts are covered in four feet of ice and snow. Where would you go?” Ron looked stunned. He looked like I had just told him I was from Mars. Obviously it had never occurred to him, not in his worst nightmares that he was sharing his home with a swarm, a flock or whatever a gaggle of mice is called. “I’ll never sleep again!” He said dejectedly. “Good luck with that.” I said flatly, turning to go back to bed. “Put out the lights.” I added as I walked away. “Wait! You’re not leaving me?” He said in a panic. “Yep, I’ll leave you my gun and I’ll sleep with my hunter orange vest on in case I have to use the bathroom in the night!” Ron was looking at me with a look that was somewhere between despair and rage. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice.” I pleaded. “What am I supposed to do? Hold your hand?” Ron’s hands were on his hips now. “No, help me catch the mouse or whatever you do with mice.” I winced. I was tired and a little peeved. But obviously I wasn’t going to get any sleep until I helped Ron.
Mice are a fact of life in the north. I had accepted this a long time ago. Ron would have to accept this too, eventually. They were everywhere. They were, in fact amazing. I remembered when I fist started with the company. One of my departments was footwear. I was working in the basement of the old store in Wabasca Alberta. I was doing stock checks on rubber boots. I had to record the sizes in a brown binder with fake wood-grain covers. Boots, Rubber Men’s 18” red sole size 8. I had turned to boot over to see the size on the sole. As I did a cascade of stuff fell on the floor at my feet. There were M&Ms, sunflower seeds, grains of rice, popcorn kernels and other stuff. Lots and lots of them. The boot had been a third full. I stared at the pile in awe. “What the heck?” I said aloud. Lena the marking clerk stuck her head around the corner. She laughed. “A mouse’s winter stores!” She said. “They always use boots!” I stared. “How to they get in and out?” I asked. “I never really thought about it.” She said. “They’re mice they go where they please. I swept up the mess. I would repeat this over the ensuing quarter century many, many times. Usually boots, occasionally shoes or boxes. Amazing amounts of stuff. Always something that would not go bad over the winter. Seeds, candy, cereal and an amazing variety of things. Remarkable creatures. Still Jack the Ripper was remarkable and not too many people like him either.
Over the years I have tried all the methods of catching and disposing of mice. Patent and home remedies. Many work, most don’t/ One method I was assured was fool proof was to put a foam tray, the king meat and produce come on, on the floor and fill it with corn syrup. The mouse is attracted by the sweet mess and becomes mired in it and drowns. I am not sure how humane this is but it works to a degree. But if the tray sits out more than a day or two the syrup scums over and the trap becomes a feeding fest for the mice. Another one that worked was one a friend told me about. You take a bucket. tape the handle so it is erect. Lean a stick like maybe a chopstick against the handle, balanced on the rim of the bucket. Bait the end of the stick and the mouse will climb the stick and fall into the bucket which you have partially filled with water and drown. This worked so well I once had five mice in the bucket after one night. Unfortunately the next night I tripped over the bucket on the way to let the dog out. I have used patent traps of all descriptions, big steel boxes with a wind-up wheel in it that spins the mouse off into a live hold part of the box so you can catch and release. However a biologist friend said that if you release an animal that winter on stored food far enough from your house that he won’t come back; he will starve to death so you might as well just kill it. So much for the humanitarian approach. I have used commercial sticky traps and had the mice humping around the house, freaking my Wife out. I have used a trap that looked like a big metal clothespin which basically closed on the mouse’s midsection with such force it nearly cut the poor thing in half.
In my experience the best method is the old tried and true trap. The one we are all familiar with the rectangular piece of wood with the coiled spring. The one you always see in the cartoons. Unlike the cartoons however; do not bait the trap with cheese. Cheese is useless. It dries out in a day or two and becomes odorless. Mice may have big eyes but they use their noses to find their food. You need something that stays soft and smelly a long time. There is but one true mouse bait. Make no mouse stake. It is peanut butter. Mice can’t resist it. They will fall on it no matter how many weeks it has been waiting for them. Trust me. I have been on the trapline for years.
So it was that when Ron shamed me into helping him. I dug under the kitchen sink and pulled out a small box of traps. I showed him how to bait the trigger with just the right size blob of peanut butter. We set the traps along the wall; in corners and anywhere we had seen a mouse. We set about six traps and then went to bed. I hadn’t even fallen asleep when I heard a snap. Ron was up in an instant. “Hey, I think we got one.” He was as excited as if he’d gotten his first deer. It was the one closest the door and I bent down to retrieve it. The mouse was dead alright, the bar had caught him on the head killing him instantly he did not suffer. “Aw, he’s kind of cute.” Ron said as I took the mouse from the trap. “A few minutes ago you were ready to kill them all.” I reminded Ron. Then we heard another trap snap closed. Ron jumped. “You want a chair to stand on?” I asked sarcastically. “How many mice are there?” He asked. “No more than a hundred.” I said as I returned the first trap to the floor where it had been. I looked under the bed to retrieve the second. “A hundred? Did you say a hundred?” Ron was nearly frantic. I fished the trap out holding it up by the mouse’s tail. “Well ninety eight now.” I said with a laugh. “Are these things going to be going off all night?” Ron asked with resignation. “Just put them away. I’ll never get any sleep at this rate.” He wheedled. “I thought you were never going to sleep again?” I said my voice dripping with mockery. “Well I’ve been living with them this long; I guess that I can live with them a little longer. They are kind of cute.” Acceptance. It’s the final stage of grief. “Oh Ron, before you get too attached remember the company policy on pets!”