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Today was a typical day on the farm. When one lives on a farm with various kinds of animals, things do not always go according to Plan A. Even Plan B often fails. All of this, just to say that I was late getting into the house to start supper, and had no idea what I was going to fix.
The kids were home from school, and doing their homework, or so I thought.
As I came rushing madly into the house, there, by my dining room table, covered with old newspapers, (thank God for that,) stood our 15 year old daughter, Linda, razor in hand, carving away on some little gray animal, which I recognized as a mouse. “Eek” was my normal reaction to mice, but at least this little gray bundle was dead. The two little beady eyes were sitting on one corner of the paper, the slimy innards, elsewhere.
“What in the world are you doing with that mouse on my table? Who wants to eat on a table that you have been cutting up mice on? Where did you get that mouse anyway, and why are you cutting him up, and where did you get that razor blade?
I fired questions so rapidly that she didn’t have time to answer any of them.
It seems that her 7 year old brother, Vernon, had helped her catch a mouse out by the fence line. (It must have been poisoned for them to catch it.) Her Biology class had dissected a frog, and she was so intrigued, she wanted to try a project on her own.
The mouse, papers, kids, and all, were moved to the front porch so I could scrub that table!
So goes the life of a mother whose daughter had her eyes fixed on the goal of becoming a nurse some day.
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