Gnaughty Gnawer—Part 2

Now, I realize that a segment of society would strongly disapprove of killing the mouse—especially some of my Buddhist friends. I do not take to killing easily and have pondered at length how to fend off animal (as well as human) invaders without resorting to exterminating them. I have managed to come up with a few ways of deterring some unwanted critters or otherwise limiting their damage, but there comes a time when death seems the only alternative. This has been especially true for nasty, stinging critters like yellow-jacket wasps and termites. They are not inclined to curb either their appetite or their aggression, and are capable of considerable damage.

So yes, I confess. I had resorted to killing a sweet little mouse. Furthermore, I did it with premeditation and even a bit of a celebration afterward. What could be my justification to my friends who might condemn me for such a barbaric act? Well, my first thought is to suggest that some accusers examine the log in their own eye. How many of them live in an urban environment, in which they pay other people to kill on their behalf? They may call the exterminator to dispatch pests, buy meat that someone else has slaughtered, send their unwanted dog or cat to the local animal shelter (to later be euthanized), or buy high-tech products from companies that exploit the poor in China. (OK, so maybe that list is a little overstated, and maybe I'm guilty of rationalization.)

Years ago—in my youthful ignorance—I was inclined to use mouse poison, until a little research showed me that the effect of the poison was dehydration, which slowly—and likely painfully—kills. So I've decided that if I am going to kill, I believe it's better to do it quickly. The old-fashioned spring-loaded mousetrap is fast and painless, as an example.

But a more persistent accuser might ask me, did I really need to kill at all? There are traps that snare a mouse alive, which allows you then to transport it elsewhere. I once accompanied a sweet, caring friend who had live-trapped a mouse. We drove in her car for a mile or so and freed the critter. That seemed to be a kind thing to do for the mouse, but what about the carbon footprint of that drive, and what about the possibility that the pest was simply being transferred to someone else's house? For that matter, was it really kind to move the mouse to a new location, where it was unfamiliar with predators there or available food supplies? Could a cat there have been delighted to have a tasty meal dropped off—sort of the beneficiary of a feline meals on wheels?

Or maybe I should have caught the mouse, befriended it, and spent many hours training it—either to keep outside my meditation hut (I'd probably have to bribe it with regular meals) or maybe teach it tricks, so we both could join the circus and become famous and wealthy? Or I could make some endearing mousy video, post it on YouTube, and watch it go viral. My mouse could then bathe in the limelight that all celebrities enjoy and subsequently retire to Cheeseville, Wisconsin. I've got better things to do, however. This cheeky mouse stepped over the line and is now departed. I'll try hard not to let his death haunt my conscience.