Tae a moose

Ah, when I was a young man, free single and even geekier than I am now, I was at liberty to explore any road to enjoyment I felt like, whenever I felt like it. With the passing of time... responsibilities, marriage and children have cut off my avenues of pleasure one by one. In fact the only thing left for me to derive fun from is to watch things rot in my compost heap. Which is what I was doing this morning. Taking out another bucket of fresh fruit and veg that the kiddies discarded in their rush to devour the turkey twizzlers and potato waffles residing underneath, I noted with satisfaction the collapsing pumpkin from last Hallowe'en, and stuck a hoe through its soggy-looking head, to watch the juices and goo oozing therefrom. Then I really got into it and started turning the compost with gay abandon, til I noticed a wee (well, big) Wood Mouse Apodemus sylvaticus, scurrying away in fear. It ran out through a hole in the bottom of the composter, and stood by the fence looking at me. Lizzie came round the corner to see why I was taking too long, and not getting her Ribena, so Lizzie and the mouse looked at each other for a bit too. At school, she's been meant to be learning that Burns poem about chasing mice across the fields with a machete (or something... I myself have never got past the word 'breastie' without my mind wandering). Anyway, as Lizzie mentioned, it was just like that... wee sleekit cowering timorous beastie... etc.... you might be about to die of starvation, but consider yourself lucky that whatever Burns was worried about doesn't bother you. MMMmmmmm breasties.