Doing a twofer today...
Seven out of my bazillion years of life were spent living in the "Burbs" of a town in Minnesota...small town...with lots of lakes. I always longed for the country and would go to my Grandpa's farm. He is such a great man...both he and my Grandma are in their 90s and living strong. They were my rocks as a kid.
Grandpa would always get right into all the dirt with us kids. Salamanders, snakes, mice....yeah...the mice...in the corn bin. For those of you who have never been in a corn bin with 40 or so schizophrenic mice...you are missing out.
So I was six. It was like a popcorn machine. Grandpa and I would grab them mid-air...put them in a bucket. They were so cute. I would put the lid on and giggle. They were so cute.
Of course only about 20 would fit in one of those big plastic ice cream buckets that came with the milk and the milk man delivered them back then. Yes, dating myself. I had to bring them home to show my dad who owned a hardware store back then.
Arriving home, I was so proud. My mom screamed bloody murder and told me to get those (&#*$(*@& things out of the house. In horror, that was the first time I ever heard my mom cuss. Because she doesn't. So I was mortified that she did not approve of my pets. And I still had to show my dad. Mom was in the least bit happy with Grandpa. He laughed. A lot. He is so cool.
Anymickey, I went off to the neighbors with my bucket-o-mice to brag about my new found friends. Mr. Nelson was one of my favorites. Yeah, back then...I didn't know anyone's first names. My parents would have killed me. So, Mr. Nelson was so awesome and he had older kids, so he liked the little ones like me because I was cute back then. And so were my mice. His wife always had cookies for the neighbor kids. And NO he was NOT a chimo.
He was working in his garage. I said, "Mr. Nelson!" He turned around with a big smile and asked what I had in my bucket. So, I put the bucket down and opened the lid. It was like popcorn...the little buggers were hopping around. They were so cute. Mr. Nelson was proud of my hunting escapade and patted me on the head. Then he asked me to come inside for cookies with Mrs. Nelson...to leave the mice in the garage.
Excited about cookies. I did just that and...tripped...over my bucket-o-mice. They fled like prisoners stuck in Alcatraz for decades. Everywhere. In his nice garage. And the house door was open. And they went there, too.
I did what any good kid that was about to get their ass whooped would do. I held my bucket and balled and screamed at the top of my lungs...
Mr. Nelson panicked and told me everything was going to be OK. His wife came out and gave me a hug and brought me inside the house. Who does that? I would have killed someone if a bazillion farm mice got into my garage and house. Anyhoo...I got some really good chocolate chip cookies, milk, and Mr. and Mrs. Nelson got a story for life. Because even today...I hear about that story every time I go back to visit. Only I bring cookies now...and the mice stay at the farm...with Grandpa.