So the other day I received an email from my dear sister-in-law (SIL). She is married to my younger brother and they have two wonderful young whippersnappers who are nine and seven. They reside in a small little town in southern Tennessee. Seems like we have all the ingredients here for a little "You Might Be a Redneck" list, but I will forgo that list and just share the story in her email.
Seems that SIL and her two boys were running some errands for SIL's mom and stopped by her mom's house to drop off a few things. While they are carrying the groceries and whatnot to the kitchen my SIL's mother let's out a scream. SIL goes running to the den and her mom says "A mouse ran under my recliner. Get it out of here." Well my SIL is not a fan of the mouse. Never mind she lives in the middle of nowhere with cows practically in her backyard and coyotes visible some nights from the kitchen window. Mice, she does not do. This is a predicament. SIL's mom is not putting one foot back in the den while that mouse is under foot. Problem is that SIL can't even hardly look in the direction of the chair because she is petrified of seeing the mouse.
What they seemed to forget is the two whippersnappers that were in the house. Those boys hear the commotion and come a running. My SIL's mom hands them both a Walmart bag and tells them to go get that mouse. A Walmart bag - seriously! Make no mistake about it, I use Walmart bags for lots of things, but catching a live mouse is not one of them. Well, my SIL has a better idea that does not involve her sweet boys bagging a mouse in a Walmart bag. She knows that her boys are both terrifically obsessed with hockey. Ice Hockey, Roller Hockey, Street Hockey, Garage Hockey, Hallway Hockey, Table Hockey - if it has the word Hockey in it - they play it.
Well, SIL hands them both a broom and tells them to play a little mouse hockey. She said their eyes lit up and they were on it. A couple of sweet, perfectly timed passes from the oldest to the youngest whippersnapper and they shot that mouse right out the door onto the driveway. The mouse scampered off, a little stunned, but probably happy to escape relatively unscathed. The whippersnappers celebrated like they had scored the winning goal. Probably hitting brooms together and high fiving each other.
So the next time you have the misfortune of finding some vermin in your house, think hockey. It is surely cheaper than calling an exterminator and way less disgusting than setting a trap. I think they may be on to something in that sweet little southern Tennessee town.