This morning I screamed like a little girl. Or maybe shrieked is a better word?

For the record I am not afraid of mice, growing up on the family farm field mice in the grain bin were a fact of life. But somehow being confronted with one this morning while running late and wearing my dress clothes completely discombobulated me.

Anyway, I woke up late but knew that the birds needed feed before I left for work. So I tossed the cat outside, shooed the dogs into the backyard and ran out to feed the chickens before I left for work.

It’s fairly dark in the hen shack that time of day due to the windows being on the north side. I reached my hand way down in the galvanized bin we use to store feed and grabbed the scoop to swipe up the very last of the chicken feed (new bags are still in the garage). Just as I did so something ran across my hand!

I screamed like a little girl, “oh my god! oh my god!” Then as my eyes adjusted I realized that it was a cute little field mouse. Now normally I’d pretty matter of factly scoop him out and move on with my life. But this morning I was already flustered. So it became quite “the big deal”.

The first time I tried to scoop him out he started to run up my sleeve. Thus commenced dropping the scoop, frantically shaking my hand and more shrieking. The third try was the charm.

Poor little guy got tossed across the shack flying spread-eagled towards the hen door. He hit the ground running and made a mad dash out and across the hen yard with Steve in hot pursuit.

No sign of him tonight when I refilled the bin. Maybe he’s too scared to come back? If we’re lucky he’ll tell all his friends about the crazy lady that screams at mice…