cicks2 014

We don’t use the R-word.  It’s a super-mouse.  Or now super-mice.  And it’s all my fault.  Three guesses what’s in those well-sealed buckets and coolers.

Something that was in a paper bag that I wondered how all the grains were ‘jumping’ out into the scrap wood stack! (Has to be the kids…)

Remember this post?  Yep, twenty pounds of field corn in the tummies of fat, surprisingly hard-to-get-rid-of, super-mice.

BLECH!!!  EW EW EW!!!

Can’t I just burn the house down and start over?

Ivory