Hunting - Iowa Style

I've lived in Iowa for about 7 weeks. I grew up in Lake Geneva, a way too small town way too many people think is a great destination. I am sure the town or city that everyone grows up in shapes them in some way or another as they grow older. For me I knew immediately that anonymity was the way to go. Small towns, well you can keep em'. I applied to two schools for college, Marquette and the UDub. Marquette wanted more information, automatically disqualifying them from the application process. Sweet, sweet Madison accepted a fairly good student with an acceptable ACT score. People said you'd be a number. Say no more. Upon graduation I took a job in Atlanta and was a bit frightened at moving to a place I knew no one, but was a double major in English and history and didn't have a lot of places to turn. (The original plan was law school, but I grew tired of the bills and never ending requirements. My strength is not responding to authority). Shortly after accepting the position I was asked to apply for a position at the UW Foundation and a career in fundraising was born. Since then I've lived in New York, Miami, Boston and Tampa. I've turned into a bit of a city snob. I like nice restaurants and I enjoy a decent shopping experience. I don't believe in Wal-Mart (mostly due to their politics and basically it's a Chinese economy. Is it really worth the savings of 34 cents)? Target is better. One can actually navigate an aisle and the parking lot. You know what I'm talking about.

I am home this week to help Carrie out as we make the transition from a family of three to a family of four. One thinks an addition of one wouldn't upset the apple cart all that much, but statistically speaking we are adding a solid 33% to our family. If only our GDP could grow at such a rate in 36 weeks and five days! I've had precious little time to reflect on the move and the differences of Iowa and Florida right up until the moment a mouse ran across my living room floor. It's that sort of moment that puts life's moments in perspective. Sure, they might be sort of cute and cuddly and possibly even sold in local pet stores, but, it was appalling.

I, armed with ineptitude, grabbed a gallon size Tupperware container hoping to contain the beast. My mother in-law laughing at me immediately calling for a camera shot to preserve the city boy moment. "That's not how you kill a mouse!" Outstanding! By all means I am open to suggestions. That was it. I stood there flabbergasted at how people could possibly cohabited with mammals outside of dogs and cats. It wasn't but 3 hours earlier I was at a pet store buying Quinny his first aquarium full of fish; his first hand picked pets. And now, I had a living zoo presumably eating off my hard earned work and living rent free. I am sure all readers know that 1 in 5 Londoners died of the rat infested population of the city to a tune of an estimated 25 million right? I just had a baby! A mouse? In Florida we don't have rodents. At least not in our homes. Sure, we have cockroaches the size of miniature poodles but you can stomp on those suckers. This is furry! Furry, people, furry!

I wasn't quite sure what to do. I googled exterminator. I saw the pictures of the guy spraying chemicals and killing the bad bugs and furry rodents on the spot. It reminded me of Arachnophobia where John Goodman is trying to kill the spider and it won't die. He eventually walks over and squashes it. As I'm perusing the local rodent killers I google "organic." This is of course a service that this city snob used before and left our house insect free for 3 years for $50 and was harmless to us, our baby and our pets. But we are in Iowa (it doesn't exist anywhere in the state - million dollar idea}??? - and therefore I wished for a .22 caliber rifle to solve the problem. At least I would get props from the fellas for shooting my rifle at the local wildlife in the house. If that doesn't earn you free beers at your around the corner bar what does? But to no avail, so I did what any city boy would do. I headed out to the local Menard's and bought one of every rodent killing device they stocked. That's right, I was a officially a hunter.

I walked back into the house feeling like a plaid shirt wrangler wearing chest puffed man. I laid my contraptions on the counter for all to see. I had $.78 old school snap your neck traps with cheese. I had run over this and you are stuck for life traps (glue). I had "child-friendly" snap your neck traps. I had concoctions to "lure" rodents of all sizes to their neck breaking death. (This is really some sort of racket, sort of like child care but significantly cheaper). The ladies might not have been impressed, but Quinny was. Ah, sons. More sons please. Two might not be enough.

So, like a true Iowan I got up on my tree stand (living room) and started peanut buttering up my traps. I laid them behind the aquarium. Seriously, I set that thing up yesterday and a mouse made it its home already? I put one in the closet. Behind the washer, in another closet, behind the aquarium, again, and stealthily laid one out in the store room. Not 60 seconds later my hunter instinct took over. A loud snap! reverberated throughout the house. Gotcha you furry little disease killer that some kids consider pets! But, no it was a false positive. Glad, we don't have daughters. The whole $.37 trap broke. Guess what folks? Yup, made in China. I would take it back, but it was full of peanut butter. So, like a true Iowa hunter, as I understand it, I made myself a cocktail, threw in a movie about British hooligans (aren't they all)? and sat in my tree stand (couch) for the long haul. About 90 minutes and two cocktails later I heard an unmistakable squeaking. I am thinking what is that Lucky dog of mine up to when I realized I was using him as an ottoman. I looked at Carrie, who looked at Gavin, who looked at me, who looked back at Carrie who then looked back at me when we all realized the pooch was looking at us wondering what the squeaking was.

Well, that squeaking was one sorry mouse because it didn't have its SAG card from working on the Green Mile and was stuck in some serious glue behind the washer. Hmm. Okay, so I'm a hunter now with my first kill. I have not one but two Swiss army knives (red and black) to gut this ferocious mammal but this sucker is still alive. Sure, it's a humane way not to kill your child but I have an approximately 6 ounce mouse glued to a six inch piece of paper that is decidedly not a science or an art project for high school. Oh yes, I remember now, I live in Iowa and I have an entire corn field in my back yard. I donned some gloves, picked up squealing mouse and took him for the dead mouse walking! off the plank. Lucky joined me for the funeral procession. At the edge of the corn field, being new to Iowa, I decided a Frisbee throw would be best. And wah-la humans 1, rodents 0. Winner! I know, I know. And yes, when I walked away it was still squealing. But aren't we in pig farming territory? No one will even notice.

So to celebrate my first ever mammal slaughter a picture of baby Gavin. He gained 2 ounces since leaving the hospital. Hooray! Hopefully he survives the black plague!

I'm not sure how people live with the possibility of mice in their homes. I am refortifying the dryer vent, which had to be the way in. I fear finding another a mouse as a clan or family or herd or whatever they call them. I did notice a gun shop on the way to Quentin's daycare the other day. Too soon? Okay, well rest in peace sweet fury mouse. If you some how make it to the big cornfield in the sky tell your friends to stay away from Sandhurst Drive.

Enjoy the unrelated to this story picture of my new son. He sleeps all day and screams all night. That makes him our new son. If he slept through the night we would be worried.