I am watching a mouse make a series of what I can only describe as Fuck Around Choices, and the Find Out is VERY excited to continue this little experiment.

I'm watching my parent's dog Arwen up at their house.

Arwen (Kelpie, 60lbs) is 15(ish?) now and while she has a high prey drive and history of successful hunts, she's also 15 and doesn't give many fucks. I also have my dogs. Charleston (Sighthound/pointer mix, 50lbs) is 10 and another proactive carnivore, but he's also JUST finished making his Perfect Couch Nest and doesn't want to get up.

...Herschel (Corgi, 40lbs and extremely tube-shaped) is 5 and has no Prey Drive, but he does have a PLAY Drive, which i found out last time I was up here and found him, having cornered a baby bunny, play-bowing and shaking his ass at it because he just had a Great Time chasing it, now it was the bunny's turn to chase HIM! Even though all three of these assholes spent all day dragging me hither and yon through the rockies, he still has the endurance of an athenian messenger and still looking for a reason to careen around the house at Mach Fuck.

A Reason has Arrived.

The reason I am allowing this to happen is that The Mouse is unlikely to come to any harm beyond some environmentally-adaptive trauma, and I am Hoping it hauls ass back to the compost bin where most of them live and tells the colony that there's a very large fucked up little man in the house, fuck that shit, let's stay out here.

I don't know if Psyops work on mice but I feel like it's worth a shot.

After a few minutes of waiting for the mouse to come out, Herschel was getting concerned (bored) and stood up all the way, little paw raised, ready to smack the fun back into this poor creature.

"Ah!" I told him.

As much crime Herschel commits, he's actually quite biddable, and stopped, little paw raised, staring at me before slowly lowering it.

"Good job!" I tell him, and he wiggles with joy. "Figure it out!"

Herschel returns his attention to the wobble, circling and sniffing it with small boofs of excitement, looking bac at me for approval eery so often, before giving the bottom of Wobble the smallest, gentlest push with his nose, which doesn't make it rock, but does scoot it along the carpet.

"Okay!" I tell him, and for the last few minutes he has been slowly scooting the mouse inside the wobble across the living room floor an inch at a time.

This has, however, made charlie actually sit up and watch, so I may need to intervene soon.

Arwen is still snore-farting.

Ok so I may have a broken ankle but not because of this, updates when I get back from the urgent care.

FUNNY STORY-

I mean my whole life is a funny story but in this particular case, it's funny because while I do not have a broken ankle, I do have a pretty severe sprain, and a new appreciation for the horrors of Wordle.

I'll get there.

Anyway, when we last left off, Herschel was doing the Canine equivalent of Playing Cars with the wobble, scooting it around the living room with his nose, which was enough to wake up both Charlie and Arwen, who were squinting at him with matching expressions of "What is the Ginger Idiot up to now?"

So I had to go back and get the Wobble so Herschel could have breakfast, and while poking around in the grass, my sister texted me.

The mice are bringing wobble balls of human to the moose...