Dead Mouse Walking

My next-door neighbors in the house I previously lived in are true salt-of-the-earth wonderful people ... Cindy and Perry ... they are from Arkansas, and they are two of the kindest, gentlest, most faithful friends anyone could ever ask for. Cindy and my friend Becky bought and made all of the bouquets and flower arrangements for Meghann and Barrett's wedding, and Perry read Scripture at the ceremony. Cindy and Perry stood by me through my long and difficult divorce. Perry taught my sons how to shave, and Cindy made us dinner when I was sick. They prayed with me when life was tough, and they laughed with me when life was funny. As much as I love both of them, there was one certain incident that sealed Perry's place in my heart forever.

I am terrified of mice, and snakes, too, for that matter ... and raccoons in my garage, but that's a story for another post. And even though my former house was relatively new and in a nice subdivision, more than a time or two, a mouse would get in the house and cause this old gal to nearly have heart failure. I was usually able to catch them in a trap and have my sons take care of them for me, but there was this one mouse ... Mighty Mouse ... that I couldn't catch. He was a brave little sucker, scampering across the living room or kitchen floor right in front of me. It was a Saturday, and I was beyond the end of my rope with Mr. Mighty Mouse, so I called Perry and asked if he would come over and try to catch the mouse before I just packed myself and my kids up and moved out. He laughed and said he would be right over, and it didn't take him very long to catch Mr. MM with a broom and a dustpan ... yep, you read right ... a broom and a dustpan. Now you understand why that event earned the ultimate level of respect from me for Perry ... seriously, he caught an uncatchable mouse with a broom and a dustpan.

It's a cool, rainy, gray day here in Kansas City, and after lunch I took advantage of a break in the falling drops and set out for a walk with Oliver the wiener dog. I was deep in thought and kind of sauntering along letting Ollie take his time as he explored the trail and the grass and the trees. As we made our turn to head toward home, I shivered as I walked into the cold wind. I stopped to zip up my hoodie, and Ollie stopped behind me waiting for me as I struggled to get the zipper to move. Finally my jacket was zipped, and I began to walk again tugging on Ollie's leash as I moved. Thinking he was coming along, I walked until his leash suddenly snapped tight. I turned around to see why Ollie was stopped and saw that he had something in his mouth, and as I walked to him, he came trotting toward me with his tail wagging furiously and a spring in his step. "What do have, buddy?" I asked my hound. "What's in your mouth?" Almost as soon as the words left my lips, I realized what it was ... yep, Ollie the wiener dog was strutting his stuff with a dead mouse in his little mouth.

I'm sure if anyone saw what happened next, they would have thought I had truly gone off the deep end. I began screaming, "Drop it, Ollie! Drop it! Ewww, Ollie, ddddrrrroooopppp it!!!!" Ollie stood with a perplexed look on his face, certainly wondering why I was so upset when he had found such a wonderful prize. "Oliver Chance Johnson," I shouted as my stomach began to rise into my throat. "Drop it right now! Drop it, drop it, drop it!" And then I clapped my hands and said it again, and finally, my little dog laid the mouse on the sidewalk ... right in front of my feet. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I dragged Ollie into the grass away from the rodent, and I gave him a very stern lecture about not picking up dead things. Oh I know you're thinking he didn't understand me, but I assure you he understood every part of my lengthy reprimand because as we began to walk, Ollie's tail was tucked between his legs as I kept his leash locked so that he couldn't wander from my side.

I've been even bluer than usual for the last few days, and I was so disgusted by the whole mouse in the mouth event that I sarcastically said aloud, "So, God, is that Your grand trail lesson for me today? My dog walking with a dead mouse in his mouth? If that's Your lesson for me, thanks, but no thanks. You can keep it." As quickly as I spoke, I knew there was indeed a lesson, and I knew it was a big one. Here's the thing ... that mouse didn't know or care that he was being carried along in the mouth of a dog. He didn't know or care that there were sharp teeth wrapped around his body. He was dead ... he was a dead mouse walking. Oh man, I thought as those now familiar tears once again sprung to my eyes. I'm a dead mouse walking ... that's your lesson for me, God ... I'm a dead mouse walking. The dogs of depression and fear and sin have been walking down the trail of life with me in their mouths ... sapping the life from me ... for, as a friend told me last week, a long time ... too long, in fact.

Dead mouse walking ... dead mouse walking ... I'm going to have to think about that for a while, God. And by the way ... I take back what I said about You keeping Your lesson ... thank You for not giving up on me just yet ... thank You for Your breath of life today.