Joe went out for a run. Conveniently.
I heard the mouse, squeaking... he had finally been caught.
I thought, Hooray!! He's alive. We can humanely release him into the wild and have a glorious glorious day.
Dad gave me a little attitude. But, being the good father he is, he came down with his gloves.... put Willie into his car and off we set for mother nature.
Yeah.
It didn't go as planned.
It was actually horrific.
Because it was a glue trap and I didn't know.
The poor little guy was suffering.
My dad put him out of his suffering. But my question is, why do we get to be the judge? Is death merciful? How does one know?
I feel very torn about the incident.
And of course... there is another mouse alive in my kitchen.