Last night, I slipped my feet into my boots so I could go feed the fish.
And felt something soft and tender.
Eddie, bless his little black heart, had left a newly dead mouse in my right boot. That or the poor thing had escaped Eddie’s tender ministrations by crawling into the boot to hide. Probably the latter, as I couldn’t find any wounds on it other than a bite in the vicinity of the right shoulder blade. I held it for a moment, and it was still vaguely warm, but definitely dead. Poor baby. I think the thing that disturbs me most about mice and deer is that they don’t close their eyes when they die. They continue to look at you beseechingly.
I threw him into the back forty for the foxes to eat. So much for empathy.
In the future I will shake out my boots before I put them on. No telling what else the dear boy may drag home.
thisendoftheswamp 
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