Mice aren’t nice, but they can be funny

Tue, May 13 2008

— This last weekend we visited a couple at their relatively new house. We had said we would be there around 3 p.m., and we made it on time. I rang the doorbell and happened to look in the flower bed next to the porch. Calmly sitting there was a tiny mouse. He saw me, but didn’t make a run for safety. I didn’t scream or jump around like some women do. Unless it slithers on the ground or is bigger than I am, I leave it alone.
We went into the house when the door was opened and I never even mentioned the mouse outside. Why bring it up?
On the way home after our lovely visit, I mentioned to Jim how seeing the little mouse brought forth the memory of my Aunt Dessa and mice. She had a fear of mice that was like nothing I had ever seen. She hated and feared them as if they would attack her and rip her eyes out.
The weekend I remembered was some years ago. My parents, Aunt Dessa, Uncle Shine, Jim and myself and our daughter, Karen, made a trip to the family farm. The main house was more than 100 years old and was originally logs that were then covered in ship lap and siding in later years. It was used as a weekend place, a summer place and a working farm.
To read the entire story, get your copy of Wednesday's Weatherford Democrat. To subscribe, call (817) 594-7447.