October 20, 2018

White Dog was impressed. "For a three-legged boy fast asleep and wearing a muzzle my brother is FAST!" I had to agree but pointed out that his action had a greater meaning.

"What is that?" WD asked. "The mice are coming back," I sighed.

Roman has been scrambling under the wire rack in the kitchen for a few days; Steve took note and baited a trap with peanut butter. The pb disappeared but the trap remained unsprung.

This afternoon Roman was napping soundly against the kitchen gate...all of the White Dog Army sprawled in the room and out into the hall in satisfying long low-sun goldenness.

When Roman leapt to alert and charged the leather chair, I thought he was having a reactive moment and one of the other dogs were in danger. "HEY!" I yelled and Bailey (the closest) moved to standing from where she had an instant ago been sleeping on her back.

But Roman ignored her and plunged his nose behind the chain until he managed to use his shoulder to shove the chair from its place. Then he was all over the floor against the wall and behind the stereo stand.

"He is mousing," White Dog exclaimed. "That mouse is darn lucky he had a bit of a head start and that Roman wears the muzzle because I think those months in the wild developed pretty darn good hunting skills."

"Maybe Roman's scent will cause Mr. Mouse to look for a new home," Steve said hopefully. "I do not relish another season like last winter's. And I am never comfortable with you guys catching outside things...too many diseases and dangers."

Roman laid down with his paws and nose between the chair and the equipment rack. Steve gently rubbed his head. "Good boy, just keep 'em scared and running. I appreciate your help."