Paper The Mouse vs. the Wolf. A short story by Tommy Leonhardsen As you may know, I don’t live in the most domesticated parts of our country, but rather far out in the fields, as they say. Out here, there is a plethora of animals, wild and domesticated. This is the story of when our dog, Yak, meeting one of them. Yak was born and raised at our farm, so he is more or less used to the different kinds of creatures living around here, but surprises do crop up. And some of them is a bit hard for him to swallow. Sometimes literally. The reports from his meeting goats, pigs, bulls and even (in his view) more dangerous creatures will have to wait to some other time; now I’ll tell of Yak’s latest friend. You see, Yak has gotten himself a fan. Albeit a small one, it’s still a fan. And a great fan, in it’s own small way. This fan has one big advantage to all the other creatures Yak has come to know – it’s so small even Yak doesn’t have to be afraid of it, and therefore bark at it. Yak is actually a big coward. You should see him skipping a fence (or rather; not doing it). It’s a rare sight to see a dog running a kilometer to find the next gate, rather than to skip the fence. Even if the fence is holding the same low (sic) standard fences out here do. Cows, bulls and Elk is very good at one thing, namely making fences much lower than intended by the farmer, so our fences isn’t that much of a challenge. But not so for Yak, the chicken dog. Anyway. Yak’s latest fan is an animal he can handle, although he tends to keep a certain distance. One never knows…. The other night, when I was (finally, according to Yak) going to bed, I took my usual walk around the house checking for potential fire hazards (it’s a phobia I have). As usual, there weren’t any. What I did hear was some very suspicious sounds emitting from the cupboard. Living on the edge, as I like to put it, I’m getting rather used to the horrendous rats out here, and surmised that one had found its way into the house. Well, these rats are preferable to the ones one finds in cities. The two-legged kind, I mean. Rats are rats though, and it was with a certain tremidity that I stealthily approached the cupboard, Yak hot on my heels. I had the plan that if it was some four-legged creature having a go at my garbage, I’d open the doors and yell “BOOO!” so as the miscreant would have a heart attack of fright or something. Shame, perhaps. Whatever. Luckily, I found no rats when the cupboard doors were flung open, but the scratching sounds continued unabated. A closer inquiry from me (”Yak! Check it out!”) soon brought out the fact that it was something more harmless that was having a field day in my garbage bin. A mouse. A field-mouse, at that. Those of you who have taken a good look at a normal mouse and found them disgusting would not appreciate a field mouse. They are phenomenally ugly. And this one more than usual, because of it’s entrapment in my garbage bin. However, the mouse continued hoping that running around it little circles and scratching at the bucket would soon get it out of its predicament, and back to it’s little (or large) mouse family, telling about it’s good fortune. This was not to be. Yak and me stood there looking at the stupid mouse in my garbage. It was ugly as sin, and I had no intentions whatsoever of dirtying my hands by physically touching the filthy creature. I took the only logical path and said: “Yak! Eat it!” Yak looked at me. He then backed up three steps, and apparently thought: “What? are you stupid? You think that I’d put something THAT ugly in my mouth?” I could hardly argue that point, but my sharp brains soon found a solution to this problem. I caught the mouse in an (almost) empty milk container, a task made simpler by the rapidly tiring mouse. It scratched maniacally at the container, as I ran out the door and for the barn. I didn’t even take the time to put on some shoes. Yak followed, but shrank back when I suggested that he’d carry the scratching little mouse. Around the barn we went at a good pace, my lack of footwear considered. Slippers just aren’t meant for outdoor use, especially not in the soggy wintertime. When we had rounded the barn, I released the mouse, and it went hither and thither at great speed, apparently not realizing its release. Finally the mouse got its bearings, and went shooting north at great speed, its size considering. I must say it was rather amusing watching the mouse run at full throttle, with Yak trotting beside it. He was looking down at it as he went, and it looked like he thought: “Cool! Are we having fun now?” I think the mouse, scared out of its wits, may have been of a differing opinion. It soon left its notion that it could outrun Yak on the road, and went running for the fields. Yak protectively by its side. “Yak, the Protector” he seemed to believe. The mouse supposedly believed something entirely different. Finally they approached a tree sticking up from the snow, and the mouse disappeared down its trunk. Yak looked confused after the mouse, before he with a dogs stoicism, said to himself: “There will be other mice.” Whereupon he lifted his foot and urinated on the trunk.

Paper The Mouse vs. the Wolf. A short story by Tommy Leonhardsen As you may know, I don’t live in the most domesticated parts of our country, but rather far out in the fields, as they say. Out here, there is a plethora of animals, wild and domesticated. This is the story of when our dog, Yak, meeting one of them. Yak was born and raised at our farm, so he is more or less used to the different kinds of creatures living around here, but surprises do crop up. And some of them is a bit hard for him to swallow. Sometimes literally. The reports from his meeting goats, pigs, bulls and even (in his view) more dangerous creatures will have to wait to some other time; now I’ll tell of Yak’s latest friend. You see, Yak has gotten himself a fan. Albeit a small one, it’s still a fan. And a great fan, in it’s own small way. This fan has one big advantage to all the other creatures Yak has come to know – it’s so small even Yak doesn’t have to be afraid of it, and therefore bark at it. Yak is actually a big coward. You should see him skipping a fence (or rather; not doing it). It’s a rare sight to see a dog running a kilometer to find the next gate, rather than to skip the fence. Even if the fence is holding the same low (sic) standard fences out here do. Cows, bulls and Elk is very good at one thing, namely making fences much lower than intended by the farmer, so our fences isn’t that much of a challenge. But not so for Yak, the chicken dog. Anyway. Yak’s latest fan is an animal he can handle, although he tends to keep a certain distance. One never knows…. The other night, when I was (finally, according to Yak) going to bed, I took my usual walk around the house checking for potential fire hazards (it’s a phobia I have). As usual, there weren’t any. What I did hear was some very suspicious sounds emitting from the cupboard. Living on the edge, as I like to put it, I’m getting rather used to the horrendous rats out here, and surmised that one had found its way into the house. Well, these rats are preferable to the ones one finds in cities. The two-legged kind, I mean. Rats are rats though, and it was with a certain tremidity that I stealthily approached the cupboard, Yak hot on my heels. I had the plan that if it was some four-legged creature having a go at my garbage, I’d open the doors and yell “BOOO!” so as the miscreant would have a heart attack of fright or something. Shame, perhaps. Whatever. Luckily, I found no rats when the cupboard doors were flung open, but the scratching sounds continued unabated. A closer inquiry from me (”Yak! Check it out!”) soon brought out the fact that it was something more harmless that was having a field day in my garbage bin. A mouse. A field-mouse, at that. Those of you who have taken a good look at a normal mouse and found them disgusting would not appreciate a field mouse. They are phenomenally ugly. And this one more than usual, because of it’s entrapment in my garbage bin. However, the mouse continued hoping that running around it little circles and scratching at the bucket would soon get it out of its predicament, and back to it’s little (or large) mouse family, telling about it’s good fortune. This was not to be. Yak and me stood there looking at the stupid mouse in my garbage. It was ugly as sin, and I had no intentions whatsoever of dirtying my hands by physically touching the filthy creature. I took the only logical path and said: “Yak! Eat it!” Yak looked at me. He then backed up three steps, and apparently thought: “What? are you stupid? You think that I’d put something THAT ugly in my mouth?” I could hardly argue that point, but my sharp brains soon found a solution to this problem. I caught the mouse in an (almost) empty milk container, a task made simpler by the rapidly tiring mouse. It scratched maniacally at the container, as I ran out the door and for the barn. I didn’t even take the time to put on some shoes. Yak followed, but shrank back when I suggested that he’d carry the scratching little mouse. Around the barn we went at a good pace, my lack of footwear considered. Slippers just aren’t meant for outdoor use, especially not in the soggy wintertime. When we had rounded the barn, I released the mouse, and it went hither and thither at great speed, apparently not realizing its release. Finally the mouse got its bearings, and went shooting north at great speed, its size considering. I must say it was rather amusing watching the mouse run at full throttle, with Yak trotting beside it. He was looking down at it as he went, and it looked like he thought: “Cool! Are we having fun now?” I think the mouse, scared out of its wits, may have been of a differing opinion. It soon left its notion that it could outrun Yak on the road, and went running for the fields. Yak protectively by its side. “Yak, the Protector” he seemed to believe. The mouse supposedly believed something entirely different. Finally they approached a tree sticking up from the snow, and the mouse disappeared down its trunk. Yak looked confused after the mouse, before he with a dogs stoicism, said to himself: “There will be other mice.” Whereupon he lifted his foot and urinated on the trunk.