We get dry kibble for the dogs from Chewy.com, delivered in a 20-pound bag every five weeks. We store the bag in the garage, periodically scooping kibble from it into a smaller container we keep in the kitchen. While refilling the small container yesterday, I found a dead mouse inside the bag.
What was left of the kibble in the bag is now in the garbage, the small container’s been scrubbed with bleach, and the dogs are eating chicken and rice until the next bag arrives, which fortunately should be any day now.
The bags are heavy plastic with a velcro seal on top. I checked the old bag for holes and didn’t see any, so I figure the mouse got in through the top — I probably didn’t have the velcro closed properly. Donna thinks the bag came from Chewy with the mouse already in it. Arguing for Donna is the fact that we keep the bag in a three-foot-tall rubber garbage container, and it’s hard to imagine a mouse jumping that high. Arguing against, the dead mouse didn’t look mummified (although I have to admit I didn’t closely examine the corpse). I’ll pick up a proper storage bin with a lid later today, and when the next bag arrives I’ll pour the contents into the bin. If there’s a surprise in the kibble I’ll see it then. Meanwhile our trusty humane trap is primed with cheese and positioned on the garage floor. Where there’s one …
Our daughter’s back. For how long is anyone’s guess, but the smart money says it’ll be a while. She has nowhere else to go, really … whoever she’s been camping out with must have asked her to leave.
Last night Donna noticed a car stopped on the street between our house and the neighbors, headlights on. It didn’t occur to either of us it might be Polly until an hour or so later. I put on some sweats and went out to check, and sure enough it was her, locked inside her car with the lights on and engine running, crying and angry over having to face us again. I talked to her through the closed window, telling her to come inside and that we were cool with everything and would leave her alone, but she wouldn’t get out of the car. I went back in and told Donna what was going on. We decided to leave her alone. After a while Donna went to bed, and an hour or so later the dogs and I heard Polly slip in through the front door. She’s been locked in the guest bedroom ever since and we have yet to talk.
Before Polly went walkabout Donna had planned to drag her to state and county welfare agencies to see if there’s a mental health program she can get into. We can’t afford to pay for the help she needs, so that’s still the plan. Long term, we have no idea what’s going to happen, or if Polly, who’ll be 49 in March, will ever manage to move out and provide for herself again. We’re both 77 now and not likely to be around too much longer. It’s a vexing problem.
To be continued, as they say.
I usually just read blogs without commenting, but I felt compelled to reach out after reading your post about the challenges your family is facing. Sharing things like that takes courage, and I really appreciate your openness. It made me realize many of us are dealing with similar challenges, even though we don’t always talk about them. Your blog reminds me that we’re not alone, and that makes a real difference. Thank you.