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HUBBY AND THE MOUSE

 

Having a cat on the job this year, I didn't think we'd suffer from the old 'brown-field-mouse-inside-the-house trick, but alas he's been slacking. Somehow a cute little brown field mouse made his way into our house and took up residence. His poop droppings were the only thing that gave him away, or I'd never know we had a cat and a mouse in the house. I know he was cute because we managed to catch him. I tried to set a nice humane trap, but he was too smart for my type. So hubby got in on the act and set a real mouse trap. A bit of peanut butter and a piece of cracker later, we heard the trap go off. But he'd gotten away again. Hubby was more determined than ever to get this little poop leaving creature, so he set the trap again. Next morning, he found blood and guts and the mouse sitting nearby looking ever so sorry for himself. Hubby quickly emptied the cat's dry food container and and the mouse walked into it quite happily. Then he rushed upstairs to tell me we had a problem - one maimed mouse and 3 children who wanted a free pet mouse.

 

 

So hubby decided in the interest of being nice to animals and all, that he'd nurse the mouse back to health and let him go down by the creek where he probably came from. First came the shredded newspaper to hide in, the tissue in case he was cold, the tiny container of water so he could wash the blood off his face, more crackers and peanut butter, a piece of pear, drip fed him with milk from a specially made bottle, and then tossed in a piece of aloe Vera plant and told the mouse to eat it, because it would help his face heal. I kid you not. I think somebody's gone a bit soft around here, and it isn't me or the mouse.

 

 

FINDING YOUR OWN PARADISE

 

I've been having some more really deep thoughts lately. I've been thinking along the lines of how come people are born in one place and quite often die there as well. The place may be within the confines of one suburb, a city or a country, but they might never sit down and think, Where in the whole entire world would I live if I could live anywhere? One would have to be thinking way outside their normal box of life, taking into consideration climate, family and friends, work, lifestyle, money, and whether the grass really is greener on the other side, and of course, weighing up the likeness of being bombed by Bin Laden's friends.

 

I was discussing this idea with a friend of mine who declared that she would choose to live in Pukekohe if she could live anywhere in the entire world. The entire world and she would choose Pukekohe. Obviously we couldn't ever happily live together, but whatever " floats her boat" so to speak.

Me on the other hand, might choose a small island in the Caribbean. I could start drinking rum, wear and eye patch and grow hairs on my chest to fit in with the culture.

As a writer I could happily be inspired and survive, provided there was an Internet connection and a power supply for my computer. Writer @ nearest coconut tree dot com or something.

So if you see me visiting the local bottle store, packing my bags, and growing chest hair you'll know where I'm headed.

 

 

DREAM JOB

 

I don't know about you, but most people I know kind of just drift into a job or a line of work at some stage in their life, but I'm not sure they have ever had a great big brain strain and thought about what their ultimate dream job might be. Something they would jump out of bed in the morning to do.

 

 

I've been thinking about this lately in terms of what job I'd like. And even though writing is such a cool and enjoyable job for me, where I can wear my fluffy slippers in my own office, I think I'd really like to be one of those roaming photographers. The ones that capture sunrises and sunsets, the power of the ocean in a single wave, dewdrops falling off roses first thing in the morning, sandy tropical island beaches with the shadow of a single palm tree reflected in the white sand - you get the picture. Unbelievably romantic and exotic photos of nature at it's best.

I'd sling a camera or two around my neck, take food, and travel day and night until I'd captured "it" - whatever "it" may be.

But then on the other hand, I might just get trapped into one of those lovely rope hammocks on a tropical island beach somewhere with my backpack full of food, and forget all about taking photos. That sounds more like me...

 

 

THE MUSCLEY MEN COME TO TOWN

 

The other week, I heard there were some muscle men coming to town, so being a woman who appreciates a good set of muscles to say the least, we all went to the show, kids and all. We went not once, but 3 times to the show at a local church down the road.

 

And muscles did I see indeed. One of the muscley men who were from a group called Team Impact from Texas, USA, had just 6% body fat and muscles to drool over. It was a wonder there weren't puddles on the floor all over the room. They rolled up fry pans like burritos, broke out of hand cuffs, bent steel over their heads, tore the Auckland phone book in half lengthways, crashed into solid blocks of concrete and ice with bits of their bods, blew up hot water bottles, and ripped a metal wrench in half, to name just some of their party tricks.

 

Our sons were terribly impressed with these muscley men and as soon as the first show was over, our middle child proceeded to pick up his big brother around his waist, and proclaim how strong he was. Then at home they set up a Team Impact show to which our viewing with the video camera was compulsory. It was hilarious watching our boys break old pencils in half and rip up pieces of paper stapled together. They even crashed into cushions and bandied 5kg dumbbells around. Then the highlight of the show, our eldest son picked up his sister who weighs only 9kg less than he does and lifted her onto his shoulders, without dropping her on the floor and all. But if I go to cook some pancakes one day, and they've rolled up my fry pan into a burrito shape, they're in big trouble.

 

 

This column consisting of more than 200 columns in stock is available for syndication.  Please contact me.

 

 

Copyright Victoria Purdie 2008

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Victoria Purdie

 

Freelance Writer

 

Email: victoria@purdiephotography.com

All text and images are copyright to Victoria Purdie of Purdie Photography and may not be copied or used without permission