Shrewed Shoes

About a decade ago a shrew moved into the house and started to work doing what shrews do best: finding and stashing food anywhere and everywhere I would not normally expect.

I had seen the little powerhouse skittering here and there at all hours of the night while working on whatever and thought I was seeing a mouse. Then one night during a raging blizzard while sitting beside a roaring fire it appeared on the couch sitting right beside me happily gnawing away on a piece of dog food. That's when I saw its long, pointy snout and knew there was a shrew in the house.


Intrigued, I didn't molest it as it sat beside me dining on kibble. It knew I had seen, looking up into my eyes briefly. It seemed content and I was content. The dogs could spare a little of their food for the interesting little creature. It was causing no harm. So we lived together through that winter to springtime. Then I started spring cleaning and found kibble stored in small heaps in cardboard boxes containing screws and nails, in tin coffee cans holding drill bits, in every shoe in the closet and even inside my guitar amp. What the...?


Without hesitation I set the trusty Victor trap and within 24 hours the shrew was history.



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