Hat Tips

Hello, Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I will say that the half-time show at this Year’s Super Bowl was the worst I have ever seen.  And that is an accomplishment that is hard to achieve.  And that is all I’m going to say about that.  As I said before, I didn’t have a dog in the fight, so I didn’t care much about the outcome of the game.

DEAN MEYER
Guest Columnist

My main concern yesterday was a mouse.  A mouse.

I had been to a bull sale in Nebraska with a friend.  I went along to assist on the drive home, since it would be a long day and night deal.  I didn’t buy a bull in Nebraska.  I shop locally.  Unless I could have bought a great bull cheap.   And I couldn’t.

We got back late Saturday night to Reva, SD where I camped at Will and Jen’s ranch.  Shirley had been handling chores and feeding cows for a couple days, and I figured another day of exercising her new knee would be good for her.  It was a wee bit above zero and the wind was enough so she wouldn’t need to ice here knee before she went out.  And I wanted to have breakfast with the grandkids.

I was going to drive the sleeper pickup back.  It hadn’t been used much since last summer because it is only a two-wheel drive.  It had been parked next to the hay yard.

Did you know that mice live in the hay yard?  I knew that.  So I was a little reluctant to crawl behind the wheel of this pickup.  Will assured me that although there may have been a little mouse “dirt” in the pickup, he had used it and was pretty sure the mice had left.  “Dirt” my ass.  And why would they leave a perfectly good winter home with blankets and a mattress?

I’ve told you before, I hate mice.  I would rather have been told there were snakes in the pickup. 

I drove out of the yard shortly after daylight.  The sleeper pickup doesn’t have real good lights.  I wasn’t even to the mailbox when a mouse scooted out from under the seat, ran across my foot, and up under the dash!  A mouse.  I think it was a huge male mouse.

It was very lucky that the road is barely built up and there was no ditch there, I ended up about fifty yards off the road, standing in the pasture, screaming at the pickup.  And the wind chill was way below zero.

After I had frozen for a bit, I pulled up my big girl pants and got back in.  I sat there debating whether I should go back and switch vehicles or man up and head north.  I didn’t want my grandkids to know I was a coward so I hit the road. 

Have you ever driven a hundred miles with one eye on the floor, one eye on the road, and grip so tight on the steering wheel that your fingers hurt?  I had to keep telling myself, “Hold tight.  When the mouse runs up your pants leg, don’t swerve.  You will end up rolling the pickup seventeen times because you driving eighty miles an hour to get home before the mouse attacks again”.  It was horrible.

I was flying by Reeder when a friend called.  I missed the call.  My hands were frozen to the steering wheel.  I pulled over to the side of the road, hoping the mouse wouldn’t notice that we had stopped and think he should come out.  I peeled my fingers off the steering wheel and after a bit I could finally get my phone out of my pocket and return the call.  He didn’t answer.  I had risked my life for nothing.

Back on the road, I said one more prayer, praying that the local Highway Patrolman around New England wasn’t out yet.  I wanted to get this trip over as quickly as possible. 

I did make it home safely.  I told Shirley I will never leave her to do chores alone again.  If she will get that killer mouse that attacked me out of the pickup.

She thinks I am a coward.  She could be right.

Later, Dean