There's a mouse in the house- Dan Franch on pets
We bought a pet mouse for the boys. It was a couple weeks back. Since then, I have been thinking about its departure or demise.
I don’t like animals. Actually, that is not true. I like animals when they are in the wild and at a safe distance.
But as pets, I can’t stand them. They smell. Their hair gets everywhere. They put an extra burden on holiday plans. In short, they require care. I hardly have enough love and compassion for the humans in my life.
I can tolerate someone else’s pet for about as long as I can put up with listening to country music; a very short time. It’s like an endurance test. That is why country music isn’t played in our house. Then why, I have been asking myself, did I relent in regard to this nasty little crepuscular creature.
Let’s blame it on that giddy haze of a Saturday afternoon. Maybe it wasn’t raining that day. Maybe we slept late. Maybe...
Anyway, we were at Gamm Vert in Luxembourg-Gasperich, and the boys caught us by surprise, one of those off-times as a parent when kindheartedness overcomes rationality. We acquiesced.
Sure, we had talked about getting a pet mouse before, but we always pushed it off, hoping they’d forget.
I should have followed an old friend’s advice when his child asked for a dog. His response to his kidling was to stand at the end of the driveway for 20 minutes at 6 am for a month. That would indicate the youngster was committed to having a pet.
I grew up with pets; a dog, a cat, gerbils. And like any kid - our sons for instance - I pleaded with my parents to get these pets, making what were surely preposterous promises that I undoubtedly failed to keep.
Thus, you’d think I’d have a soft spot for domestic animals. But I don’t. Instead, I wait, scouring the Internet for information on mice life spans. Some sites say two years. Others, four. That’s a long time.
On the upside, I have been scratching my eyes since the critter was carried into our lair. Allergies, perhaps? If so, that could be my out.