I work out almost every day. I wish I was one of those people who can effortlessly exercise and look like a Nike model. My face turns red, my body sweaty and stinky. Anyhow, I was sitting in the living room after a run, cooling down. My dogs, Missy and Jasmine, were sleeping at my feet. Scott (husband) came into the room, looked at me, and wrinkled his nose (he usually points out how bad I smell). He then immediately, calmly, followed with this sentence: “You need to get up there’s a shrew on Missy.”

I just sat staring at him, trying to figure out the joke. How did my BO become a shrew? Why was my shrew-BO on Missy? Is he on drugs? Then I think, maybe he is actually talking about a shrew. Do they have shrews in Tennessee? I’ve never seen one. Images fly through my mind:

Or:

Maybe that’s his code for “you’re a hot shrew”?

I finally stand up, and look at Missy. On her back, I see tiny, furry claws clinging to her fur. Not a shrew, a baby mouse. He somehow found Missy, and was trying to burrow in to keep warm. I picked him up and carried him outside, wishing I knew the best place to put him. I wonder if it was the mouse from the shed. How did a baby mouse get into the living room? Are there more? Why am I always rescuing mice?

Update:

I am sad to report that this morning we found a squished baby mouse on the driveway, but 5 feet from the place I let him go last night. I am trying to convince myself that it’s another mouse, but in my heart I know it’s him. Did I step on him? Did I run him over with the Honda? Cameron was so funny, she tried to give him some dignity by covering his little body with leaves.