Wee, Sleekit, Cowrin, Tim'rous Beastie

Mice, my friends! Mice are where it's at. By it I would specify all one would want on a lovely evening in the yard. Let me explain. There's the little rodent in the grass, all alive and interesting, and then--all sudden-like!--it pops over a few inches in any direction. You never know what direction until it happens. At the sight of this I can only say, "Mouse, will you be my friend? Please?" I do this in the doggiest way possible; the head is cocked, the front paws are outstretched, the playing face is set, and the tail awag. Kirsten doesn't think my new friend understands my intentions, but Mouse keeps popping about in that marvelous way of hers, so I'm not sure I care whether she recieves my message of good will or not. I offer this as another token of friendship: "Won't you please be my friend, Mouse? Oh, won't you?"

I don't claim to be an expert on the verbal or gesticular fine points of mousese, but it doesn't lie within my imagination for her to be saying anything other then, "Why certainly, dear Fern, how about a romp!" What wonderful creatures these are.

Fern

Note: No wee beasties were harmed in the making of this post. If it were not so I would not have told you. Thank you, also, to Mr. Jensen for the use of his photograph.