Be Still My Bleeding Heart

Ah fuck! AGAIN???

So don't expect the best
You won't be disappointed 
When you take a bite and watch
The worm crawl back inside


Happiness was killed, we watched it bleed
Some say it died from hate


Some say from bleeding heart disease


~ Bleeding Heart Disease, NOFX



Dad tried to hide it from me, because he’s a smart man. He knew exactly what I would do if I found it.

Unfortunately for him, I did find it.

I woke from a bad dream this afternoon. It left a bad taste in my mouth, which I decided to replace with smoke in my mouth, so I suited up for the cold and took Billy and Chiclet outside. Something made me go out the front of the house, which is kinda odd, cuz I usually take the dogs out back with me. I don’t know why I went out the front door today, I just did. Dad didn’t hear me, or he would have stopped me.

I was thinking about the bad dream and trying to shake off the residual wiggins when I noticed my biggest dog, Billy, trying to knock over a plastic garbage pail that was sitting on the concrete beside the garden. I grinned and shook my head. Silly Billy, I thought, and walked over to move whatever food was in the garbage out of my baby boy’s reach.

I got to the plastic garbage can, looked inside, and screamed. I dropped my smoke on the ground and backed away, then turn and ran back into the house.

“Dad!” I screamed as I rocketed through the door. “Dad, come quick! There’s a baby mouse outside in the garbage can and I think he’s hurt!” And I hurtled back through the door.

My dad came running out a minute later, pulling on his big puffy jacket and gloves. “I didn’t want you to see this,” he said grimly, and a moment later I FINALLY clued in to fucking reality.

“It’s a trap, isn’t it?” I whispered, and approached the plastic pail, feeling stupid. I watched as my dad reached in with his glove and opened the trap. The baby mouse scuttled away from Dad’s hand, and he pulled the trap out of the garbage pail.

“It’s supposed to break their necks or their backs,” he said helplessly, as tears coursed down my face. “They’re not supposed to suffer.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” I asked in a small voice. Henrietta Collins, aged twelve.

“I didn’t know what to do with him,” Dad turned his palms up and shrugged. “I caught him in the ceiling and brought him outside so you wouldn’t see him.”

“Can I take him to Nose Hill and release him?” I asked hopefully. We used to do that when I was a kid.

“You wanna drive all that way for one little mouse?” my dad asked incredulously and rubbed his forehead.

“Yes,” I shrugged.

“Do I have to come?”

My eyes lit up. “Nope.”

“Then do whatever you want,” Dad shook his head and went back into the house.

After some careful observation, it became clear to me that the little mouse’s foot/leg had been broken in the trap, and he wasn’t able to move at maximum capacity. This would make him even easier prey if I released him in the park. Combined with the -25 temperature outside, my decision became very easy.

And that’s how we got our new pet mouse!

I can't believe we found each other, Nibbles.
It must be density! I mean destiny.

(Before you lose your marbles, Nibbles is quarantined in the garage; and it's just until he can walk a bit better and it warms up. Then I'm going to release him at Nose Hill Park, which is the massive woods-and-acres dog park by my house.)



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