I've been battling a marauder. He eluded all my traps and forced me to consider lethal force.
Before I get into that, a few notes about animal life this year at TOP Rural World Headquarters, a.k.a. my little farmhouse in the Finger Lakes.
For the first time in years, I had no robins. I did finally take down the robin high-rise on top of the lamp at the corner of the house in back—they had built it up year after year until they could barely get in under the soffits. It was seven inches high by the time of demolition. I tried to make up for the lost housing infrastructure by commissioning two beautiful robin shelves from 13-year-old Anthony Sensenig, son of my woodworker friend Andrew. He did a nice job, but we made a tactical error and varnished them—the birds like untreated wood better, I later learned. I located them, as the birds prefer, on north- and east-facing walls. But of course they didn't touch them. Too new and unfamiliar. I certainly saw a lot of robin mating activity going on during the Springtime, but where were they nesting? Not around the house.
But I did have a pair of doves for the first time. Maybe two pairs, I was never sure. One of the doves seemed to settle into the gutter, which showed poor foresight. Actually I shouldn't judge; I don't know bird culture. Maybe gutters are a high-prestige address for doves.
Heading to the pool-table shed one night after dark, I startled a snake, and he startled me—I almost stepped on him in fact. It was a garter snake, which are common around here. Between two and three feet long. I tossed a few pebbles at him and he vamoosed. I'm just as happy I didn't step on him—they're not poisonous but are known to bite anyway, and I wouldn't have liked getting bitten by any sort of snake. I've been looking out for them on the boardwalk ever since.
As regular readers know, the premises sadly became dogless in early June. I'm still mourning for my dear Butters, but I'm getting used to life without him. Every time I think of him I try to think of something good and of how grateful I am for his company all those years. It tamps down the sadness to approach it that way.
Happy family
Then, finally, very late in the season, a robin couple moved in. The female is small. Why did she start so late, and miss the first nesting cycles in the Springtime and early Summer? I don't know enough about robins to know. She built her nest under the pavilion from scratch in mid to late July, and she did a nice, neat job, too—it's a sturdy, well-crafted nest. Not like the family I had in nearly the same place last year, whose nest was so poorly made it kept falling off the beam or being blown apart by the wind (one of their children was the robin who wouldn't leave the nest). Maybe there wasn't enough mud that year; I won't judge. Anyway, the new couple are model parents. The male hangs around. The two of them got used to me quickly, because I put food out for them regularly and announce my presence when I go by. They never give the "warning call" on my account, or seem to get upset about my presence, even when I come under the pavilion close to the nest. They have three healthy nestlings, who I expect will leave the nest any time now.
But back to the marauder. I occasionally get deer mice in the basement. They get in but can't get out, so over the years I've found eight or ten dried, mummified remains of mice in corners or between old paint cans or boxes. But once, a few years ago, one of them was smart enough to figure out a route up to the kitchen. I use a sort of mousetrap that is supposed to be adaptable to live trapping or kill trapping; it's a 5-gallon bucket with a Planky-Pro and a bit of peanut butter on the end of the plank. Put shavings in the bucket, and you can live trap; three inches of water in the bucket makes it a kill trap—they fall in and drown. My first kitchen marauder was a clever, resourceful mouse—he not only figured out how to raid the kitchen, but after I caught him and threw him behind the woodpile he found his way back into the house again (they do that) and reappeared in the kitchen. I knew it was him because he used the exact same strategies in trying to elude me when I was chasing him. I considered live-trapping, but it was the middle of Winter and bitter cold; if I had released him far from any building in a snow-covered field he probably would have died anyway. So I resorted to kill trapping. That's when I got the Planky-Pro. I didn't like to do it...it offended my sense of justice. He was an exceptional mouse, smart, strong, and resourceful, and he didn't deserved to be un-alived by me. But he was in my kitchen, eating my food and sh*tting on my counters, and sympathy for animals has sensible limits.
But this time, I thought, I can live trap, because it's Summer, and merely relocating the new clever mouse would still give him a fighting chance at life. So I tried putting shavings in the bucket. Mysteriously, it didn't work—twice, I came down to find the peanut butter licked clean but no mouse in the bucket. The only explanation was that he was being trapped, but was strong enough to jump out of the bucket. Most mice aren't.
I realized I was probably going to have to replace the shavings with water and make it into a kill trap. But I was uncomfortable with the idea so I did what I usually do in such situations...I procrastinated.
Cheeky bugger
Then I had a bright idea. I get those sometimes. What I could do was put only an inch of water in the bucket. Ever tried to jump out of the shallow end of a pool to a seated position on the pool's edge? Jumping out of shallow water impedes you just that little bit. In an inch of water, he wouldn't drown, but it would probably make it so he couldn't jump out of the bucket.
It worked in only a couple of hours. He raided the kitchen while I was in the adjacent office, awake and working! Cheeky little bugger. It was midnight. I taped a lid on the bucket, loaded it in the car, and off we went. I drove five miles into the hills, stopped in a remote location by a stand of woods, and set the little guy free. A mouse's heart beats at 450 to 750 beats a minute (oddly, many creatures get about the same number of heartbeats in a lifetime—our lifetime's allotment is roughly the same as a short-lived mouse's or a long-lived tortoise's), and his must have been higher because of fear. When I let him go he quickly burrowed under the thick grasses and stayed motionless, doubtless hoping I'd go away.
I did.
He doesn't realize he's about to go free
The project took half an hour in the middle of the night. Which is, okay, stupid. But I didn't mind. This way, the mouse doesn't get sentenced to death for being smarter, stronger, and more resourceful than other mice. He gets a chance to live his life. Or, he becomes a quick snack for an owl or another sort of raptor, or a fox, weasel, or, yes, snake. And there's nothing wrong with that. Then, his fate is a mouse's fate; he wasn't born to be the prey of me.
Ferocious fight
The last animal happening I'll tell you about was dramatic. I came into the kitchen and saw a large spider in a web just outside the big plate-glass window. It had trapped a wasp, who was half encased in webbing, but the two of them were energetically engaged in an epic fight. The spider was trying to entomb the wasp in more webbing material and the wasp was not giving up—he kept trying to maneuver his stinger into position to get at the spider, and he kept managing to free it of the webbing. The spider fought while trying to keep clear of the stinger. I watched for a while, fascinated, then ran to get my phone (my phone is always in the other room no matter which room I am in). I managed to record them in focus for quite a few seconds.
A few hours later, they were both still locked in a close embrace, but both were utterly motionless. They were the same way the next day. So unless I'm wrong, and I could be, I think it was a battle to the death—I think both insect warriors died in the titanic fight.
I'd show you the video, but I submitted it to "Daily Dose of Internet." Do you know those? If you happen to see it there, let me know. Even if I watch for it, chances are I'll miss it.
I hope it makes the cut. It's been a long time since I was published.
Life goes on,
Mike
Original contents copyright 2025 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. (To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below or on the title of this post.)
Featured Comments from:
Ed Hawco: "Thousands of years from now, when intelligent mice rule the world, the Rodentia geneticists will trace their lineage back to 'Finger Lakes Freddie,' who was spared an early death by a stick-carrying primate who captured him in a bucket and then set him free. A monument will be raised to this primate, who was unaware that this one kind act was the turning point that marked the decline of the Anthropocene and the beginning of the Apodemocene."
Chris Kern: "Re: 'The project took half an hour in the middle of the night ... But I didn't mind. This way, the mouse doesn't get sentenced to death for being smarter, stronger, and more resourceful than other mice. He gets a chance to live his life.' Don’t look now, but you have just made a contribution to deer mouse evolution. If this particular creature survives and breeds, we all may soon be contending with pole-vaulting or trampoline-toting murine escape artists. Let’s just hope they don’t discover AI. My recommendation: save the birds, not the mice."
Mike replies: Chris, meet Ed. Ed, Chris.
James Bullard: "Any live trapped animal has to be taken twice their range for release to ensure that they don't return. In the case of a mouse that is three miles away. You went farther than necessary.
"That said, it is illegal to relocate nuisance animals in New York (and several other states), leaving killing them as your only legal option. Or at least not publicly posting your actions. The logic, I am told, is the relocation is cruel, and 90% of relocated animals don't survive. I am puzzled how they could possibly know that. Is DEC taking animal censuses? The other puzzle to me is that DEC relocates nuisance bears. I'm not sure how they rationalize that."
Mike replies: But...he's only a nuisance when he's in my kitchen, eating my banana, right? (Seriously, he ate a banana.) When he's out in a field or the woods, he's just a mouse.
Amine Sultan: "Get a cat or, better yet, cats, but ones that love to hunt (usually females but not exclusively). Cats that hunt will do so even when they are well-fed. Some cats live in perfect harmony with mice or birds under a roof or even outside. Oh, and breed also matters: Abyssinians, for example, love to hunt and, in every other way, are like dogs—they adore their owners. In any case, the cat is a writer's best friend; there's no shortage of examples."
ColinC: "Enjoyed the post, as usual. For what it's worth, though, spiders aren't insects—spiders class Arachnida, insects class Insecta. They are however both in the phylum Arthropoda (jointed-feet), as are for example crustaceans like crabs and lobsters. There are many differences between spiders and insects, the most obvious perhaps that spiders have eight legs, and insects only six."
ASW: "As a biologist, I feel obligated to respond to a few things.
"Forest fire—while birds and a few larger mammals (e.g., deer) might be able to move away from a fire, the vast majority of creatures, whether we're talking about amphibians, arthropods, insects, mammals, or reptiles, simply can't. Instead they seek refuge in moist/muddy areas (e.g., amphibians), in vegetation (e.g., arthropods and insects; often a poor choice), or underground (pretty much anybody who can find a hole or rock to get underneath). Some make it but many don't.
"Cats—while they make wonderful companions and can be a useful pest deterrent inside your house, I would discourage anyone from letting cats roam outdoors. They are a plague on vulnerable wildlife (which is basically anything they can get their claws or teeth into), and certainly don't live 'in perfect harmony' with mice and birds.
"Survival of relocated animals—I can't quote an exact number for small mammals without doing further research, but the very high mortality rate is based on actual research. Small mammals are generally quite territorial. They survive by knowing where their food is and more importantly where their shelter is. When dropped into a new location they are very vulnerable to predation until they get the lay of the land, not to mention competitive exclusion (up to and including full-on fighting) with the current residents of the neighborhood you have brought them to.
"'Field' mice—I assume you're using a local name here, as the common name 'field mouse' generally refers to one of several species of the genus Apodemus found in Europe and Asia. Based on your description and what I can glean from your picture, my guess is that you caught a member of the genus Peromyscus, most likely the deer mouse (P. maniculatus) or white-footed mouse (P. leucopus). They are both wonderful mice, although perhaps not when you're fighting them for your bananas."
Mike replies: I love it when a post elicits comments from expert. Thanks for this. I changed "field mouse" to "deer mouse" in the post. I'm disappointed that relocation is most likely futile, but, really, I did have to get him out of the kitchen.
