OF MOUSE AND 1ST MAN

What a day!  The "Zen Machine" (i.e. John Deere riding mower) is always willing to give me a new experience and this weekend was no different.

Let me set the scene.  Picture it...a lazy Summer afternoon in the country.  I was on my mower, big straw hat on, iPod going with earbuds in my ears listening to a little Adele, wearing my jeans, tshirt, and Brahma work boots.

I was about 10 minutes in when it felt like something was stinging the back of my calf.  A fire ant perhaps?  I ignored it for a second, and then felt it again.  So I reached down to scratch it. 

 I FELT A LUMP, SOMETHING CRAWLING...INSIDE MY PANTS!

It's amazing how fast the human brain works in a panic situation like that.  All I can say is that I'm glad I was in the country with no one around because it all went down something like this:

After a bit of profanities that would make a sailor blush, I reached down to see what it might be and lifted up on my jeans to create slack in the fabric. Whatever it was, quickly moved up into, um, let's just say, an area you don't want a creature to be.

At this point it was full on profanities and that's when it started; the strip show.  I jumped up, ripping the iPod earbuds out of my ears, sending Adele flying into the grass and then the straw hat came off sometime during my fall off the mower.  Thank God the John Deere has auto shutoff when you get off the seat or I could have lost a limb.

Now of course, it started to flash through my mind what could actually be sharing my clothing with me:

Could it be a snake that had been on the mower or inside the engine compartment and it just decided to slither out and up my pant leg?

Oh hell no, just kill me now.

Could I have run over something that stirred up  a swarm of bees, or hornets or wasps?  Was this destined to be my fate?  A blurb on the local news and an addition to the annual Darwin Awards website?

Or was it something like this, a freakish, genetic mutation of a spider that would make me a footnote in some medical journal as the first victim of a new killer species?

As my mind raced at the possible outcomes, I felt something on my back.  Whatever it was had moved up and out the back of my pants and was scratching or clawing or biting its way up my back.  All I knew is that I had to get naked as quickly as possible (insert youthful indiscretion flashback here).  As I began running for the porch (like that would save me? What was there?), my shirt was the first victim.  I pulled it off and threw it on the ground.  The next thing I started to do was unzip my pants to take them off.  It was then that I realized my boots were laced up and I couldn't just kick them off no matter how hard I was trying.  Mental note, maybe tennis shoes would be more easily removed in the future.

Nevertheless, my pants came down.  Thankfully no photographs exist as I stumbled, shirtless, with my pants around my ankles, underwear only, up the stairs and onto the porch while screaming and releasing even more profanities.  Since there are no photos, I'll use this for your viewing pleasure:

So there I stand, heart racing, adrenaline pumping, in my underwear.  Wait, what was that dripping on my back?  Was that blood?  OMG, am I bleeding?  Oh wait, it was just sweat.  No gaping wounds, no puncture holes, I was intact.  Phew, but what was it that caused this potential public indecency charge?  I pulled my pants back up after looking around to make sure no one saw me (um yeah, no, we're on 10 acres) and that's when I noticed it; the t-shirt that was on the ground was moving!

It was the moment of truth.  I lifted up the shirt with a broom handle:

OMG!!!!!!!!  KILLER MOUSE!!!!!!!!

Oh OK, fine....

It was a tiny, furry, brown field mouse.  Cute.  But let me tell you, when it's using its tiny, scratchy claws to make the journey from your ankle, up your leg, around areas you don't want it to be, out the back of your pants and up the back of your shirt, it certainly doesn't matter how "cute" it is.

He scurried into the underbrush near my discarded iPod.

Poor Adele.

I got dressed and then sat in a rocker on the porch to ponder the possibilities.  Was it in my boot?  When I get to the farm, I change clothes and put on the boots that are in the closet. I just stuck my foot in, laced it up, and went outside to mow.  Could it have taken a few minutes to wiggle out and then went up my sock on its journey to freedom?

Or, could it have been ON the mower and as my legs were straight out on the pedals, it sought shelter in the dark tunnel of my pants leg?  Or maybe I ran over some brush and it escaped up onto the mower and again, up my pant leg?  

It goes without saying, I will check my shoes from now on.  And I might tuck my pants into my boots before I lace them up.

Just another weekend in the country!