There's a mouse in the canoe

In fact, it wasn't "a" mouse; it was an entire clan.

And properly speaking, they were more living under the canoe than "in" it.

But these are trifles.

Looking at her, you wouldn't think Doublewide would be much of a mouser. She's called "Doublewide" for a reason. She'll sit on that canoe for hours. I've got the canoe resting upside down on the far side of the driveway. I meant to drag it across the road and paddle down to Bass Lake back when the water was high. Unfortunately I never got around to it this year, because we had a cold snap. Not even I would go canoeing when it's snowing.

Eventually, you'll see her assume the position, ready to pounce.

Then she launches herself into the grass and comes up with a mouse.

That's just the start of the show. Twice in the past few days I've been witness, at close quarters, to what happens next. She brings her prize up on the stoop and eats it.

Just like that. Right in front of me. No trigger warning or nothing.

The first time, the mouse was all gone after four good crunchy chomps. I mean gone. There's a mouse in Doublewide's maw, and thirty seconds later, there is no mouse.

Second time, not an hour ago, the mouse was still squeaking and wiggling it's tail when she showed off her prize. Thirty seconds later, it wasn't.


I am well and truly traumatised. If I wanted to see nature at work I'd watch National Geographic videos.