A few weeks ago a 14 year-old boy in the Okanagan tragically died after inhaling the dust of the droppings of deer mice. His house had been infested with the creatures and he fell ill only to slip into a coma and die shortly after his exposure to the droppings.  The Hantavirus is to blame, and deer mice are the main carriers of the disease which is usually fatal.  There has been extensive news coverage about the danger of deer mice droppings and what the public should do to avoid infection.  We live on an orchard, along with a lot of other little mammals, including mice.  Are they deer mice?  I’m not sure.  Do they poop all over our proeprty?  Certainly.  This has me kind of freaked out.  I know, I know, living in fear is no way to live, and I am trying not to obssess about my impending death due to inhaling mouse turd.  But it is a real threat and I believe it’s wise to make educated choices about how to deal with the reality of the situation.

See, for a while now we’ve been planning to insure our sweet Chrysler New Yorker so that I and the babe can travel in air-coniditioned comfort for the summer months.  But when I opened up the doors to give the car a quick vacuum and clean before insuring it, I saw that the seats, the dash, the glove box and the entire trunk were teeming with mouse poop nuggets.  Little chunks of death that look like All-Bran cereal.  I donned a 3M filter mask and rubber gloves and tried to suck up the poop into the shop vac as best I could, but I realized that there was no way I could get every single shard of poop out of the car.  The vehicle had been parked in our carport for nearly a year so I guess the mice made it their winter home.  There is poop under the hood which means that when the car is started the dust could blow through the vents and that would not be good.

Mouse poop is scary.

Some might think I am being a paranoid freak, but why take chances?  The thought of strapping our newborn into her carseat only to have her inhale mouse poop fumes and die DOES NOT REALLY MAKE MY HEART SING. 

So, for now we are going to avoid the New Yorker, and perhaps get it professionally cleaned out by someone trained to deal with crap like that (pun intended).

It may sound trivial, but it has caused me to take pause and be reminded of the fact that all of our days are numbered and whether it be mouse poop, breast cancer, an atom bomb or a car accident that eventually takes our lives, we all gotta go sometime.  Cheery, I know.  I don’t mean this to sound cynical, but rather as a reminder to truly enjoy each day since we aren’t guaranteed the next.