Ah, life in the country. Fresh air, wide open spaces, mice. I took my car into the garage this morning knowing full well I had a mouse nest in the fan housing under the dashboard. How? When I turned on the fan it sounded like the local logging trucks, downshifting around the corner. And then there was that delightful mousy aroma when the engine got warm. Mmm-mmm-mmm. They told me it would be an easy-peasey job - under a half hour, so I made the appointment to give myself an hour. That would be an hour during which time I arrive with the car, they fix it, I drive to the office.
It was a good thing I decided to pick up donuts for the garage crew on the way there. They put the tallest, biggest guy to work under my dash. An hour later, he comes in the waiting room looking pale and the worse for wear. "I took TWO POUNDS of mouse nest out of your dashboard!" he managed to choke out. "It was full of grey dog hair. You must have grey dogs with long hair." I do not.
"Let me see that mouse nest," I say.
"Oh, lady, don't make me touch that stuff again."
"I don't have grey dogs and they don't have long hair. This is costing me $75 - I want to see the nest."
He comes back looking even paler - gingerly holding a sheet of newspaper in which lies a huge pile of WHITE RABBIT FUR, assorted sheep wool, leaves, twine, twigs. Nary a grey dog hair in the lot.
I mollified the poor city boy with donuts and a reassuring pat on the back. But, really, I drive my car every blessed day. When are these little buggers building the condo? Do they have night vision goggles? What gives??? This is the second and far worse mouse nest in the same place. I intend to inundate cotton balls with peppermint oil and festoon the inside of my car.
This is war.