Kimber relates a recent experience.
Today, as I was doing yard work, I found a little group of mice hiding in my garden shed. They've apparently been living very comfortably on a bag of grass seed that I had stored in there, so I took the grass seed out and attempted to get my dog to chase them down. Despite the fact that he was bred in part to catch and kill rodents, he was too afraid of the cement floor and dark interior of the shed to do more than growl at them from the door.
Because of this, I ended up spending my entire afternoon cleaning everything out of the shed, washing off all the junk that had mice droppings on it, and screaming like a banshee every time one of the mice ran across the floor. The neighborhood kids even gathered in my front yard to watch me swear as I hauled stuff out, and swear louder every time I thought a mouse had touched me.
In the end, all the mice hid behind a large book case which was too heavy for me to move. I thought this was a very anti-climactic ending, so instead I'm going to say that they bonzai-attacked me by jumping from the rafters into my hair, but I head-butted all but one of them into the wall, then let my super-brave, ferocious dog lick their bleeding guts. The one that lived ran away to be institutionalized in the country, where all he will say is "Can't sleep, Sparty will eat me". Oh, also, the neighborhood children now respect me an incredible amount, and the only new words I taught them were SAT-approved.
33 minutes ago