No daddy, it's a squirrel.

Another exciting story from our place. Yesterday afternoon we were all outside in the yard. The kids were "helping" me pick blackberries for a cobbler...I think only about a dozen of the 100's they picked actually made it into the bucket. Donald and I were picking blackberries, and pruning back the encroaching brambles. For those of you who have never visited the northwest, blackberry bushes grow wild here, they're along every road, and along the edges of most forested areas, and they grow insanely fast. Their prickles are also extremely vicious. Jeans offer little protection from these suckers. Anyway, the kids have all learned to be extremely careful and prick themselves much less often than I do, thanks to their tiny bodies and dexterous fingers..but I'm getting away from the story, so it's family berry picking time. Claire and Hannah are about 20 yds away, picking and eating more swiftly than I can keep up. I hear the girls squeeling and giggling...which they do quite often, thus it didn't warrant a glance from me. Next Claire is behind me tugging on my clothes, "Mommy, we found a squirrel!" Donald and I turn to see her proudly holding a dead mouse by the tail. This was one of those times when I turned and looked at Donald with my "this situation's all yours" look. I didn't know whether to freak out in total horror and disgust thinking of every possible disease that thing could have or laugh. He handled it well. Told them it was a dead mouse, and that they needed to bury it. They gave it a nice little burial, disinfected Claire and had a talk about not picking up wild animals, dead or alive. Claire still says it's a squirrel. Ahh, gotta love country living.