I backed the truck up to the corn crib on the Amish
farm about two miles down Chapman Hollow from 11 and 15, the road that parallels
the west side of the Susquehanna River north of Harrisburg. Because there was
no electricity to run a small elevator, my job was to shovel all the corn onto
the truck and take it to the mill to be ground up for feed. I dropped the back gate, opened the corn
crib and got to it. Despite the cool fall air, before long I was down to a
sweaty t-shirt as I worked. The scrape
of the wide, flat blade made a considerable racket in the morning quiet. Before long the sound attracted a couple of
barn and yard cats. They sat on their haunches
intently watching the crib as I shoveled.
I was mystified. About a third of
the way in, my efforts exposed a handful of fetal mice curled up in a nest of
silks and husks. Now I understood the presence of the cats. Soon mature mice started to appear. With each
shovelful they tunneled deeper into the crib. It was just a matter of
time. As I approached the end, one by
one the mice made a dash for freedom, only to be caught and gobbled by one of
the opportunistic cats. It was the feline equivalent of shooting fish in a
barrel. Was it my imagination, or, in silent
moments between each shovelful, did I really hear tiny bones crunching? Was that really the last inch of a mouse’s
tail sticking out of a content cat’s mouth as I emptied the crib, closed the
gate and headed back to the mill?
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