Mouse Hunt

I received an instant message from Gary tonight that read: "I need your advice. There's a baby mouse in the dog food." It was almost midnight, and he had just dropped me off at my house about twenty minutes earlier. I advised him to put on a pair of gloves and trap the little guy in a box, so that he could be safely deposited outside somewhere.

"I don't want to hurt it," he said. "Can I come and get you?"

It should be noted that my fiance is a broad, 6'2" guy who might look terrifying if you didn't already know that he's a big teddy bear. I've learned throughout our relationship not to ask him to hold any living creature smaller than his 80+ pound lab puppy. For the longest time, he wouldn't touch my cat, and I'm still attempting to get him to hold my guinea pig. He says he's afraid to crush/hurt them.

So honestly, I shouldn't have been surprised that he asked me to come rescue a tiny mouse from the depths of the dog food bag. I feel like most normal people would refuse something like that anyway. But I changed back out of my pajamas, got in the car, and drove to Gary's house at midnight. Armed with gloves, a flashlight, and an empty popcorn box, we were able to scoop him up and set him free outside in under five minutes.

There's a point to my rambling. Much of my relationship with Gary is and has been based on moments like these. No, I don't routinely rescue baby mice as a declaration of my love for him, but the idea behind it is why I value our relationship so much. We can come together over the smallest things--whether it's me going to his house at midnight to save a mouse or him coming to pick me up at nearly three in the morning just to watch a lightning storm--and those small things set the foundation for everything else.

When I know I can depend on him to be there for the little things, I don't worry about the big things--except for things like "How in the Sam Hill are we gonna pay bills when we live together?"

I guess we'll save that little mouse when we come to it.

-K