POOP!

There's this great picture of me---I'm maybe twenty-two years old. I'm in St. Mark's Square, and I'm covered in pigeons. I wish I could post the picture here now, but it was taken in a different age when we took film to a store and had it developed, and it's in a photo album in a box in Maryland right now. You'll just have to imagine the picture, but I'm utterly darling in it; I promise.  Here's the thing: in an active effort to get pigeons to land on me, I paid for the pigeon food that was being peddled to dumb tourists. I loved the feel of their warm little feet. I didn't necessarily want them to poop all over me (as they did to many of the people in the square that day), but I wasn't too worried about it either. So what happened to that girl who so happily covered herself in pigeons? I can tell you that I miss her. Now I go outside every day and try to clear the yard of bird poo and feathers, so my kids won't come into contact with them. This is a time consuming process. So, these days, much as it pains me to have to disagree with Bert, I loathe pigeons. Am I the only one thinking about all the germs on that feather when I watch Forrest Gump?

Though I do still absolutely wash my hands and wipe doorknobs way too much, since I moved home, a lot of my issues have improved. I think this is largely just by virtue of getting out of my own space and thus relinquishing a lot of control and, what's more, relinquishing some of the responsibility I felt to keep the world safe from germs. But where I haven't been able to relinquish responsibility, where my paranoia remains, and what is currently kicking my butt, is wild animal poo. Yeah, the pigeon poo is annoying (it can---though likely won't---make you sick, but it's unlikely to kill you), but I am straight terrified of mouse poop. See, the whole going insane thing started with mice in my mud room and my garages and cleaning up after them and reading way, way too much about how mice can cause your untimely demise, and thinking about how my children had been in that mud room with all that deadly poop while I was oblivious. Like most people, I used to not think much about mice or their poop (those were the good old days). I'd heard of hantavirus, been mildly disturbed about it, thought, "Well, I don't play with mouse poo," and gone about my merry way. But, in fact, I was wrong. I realize now that there is no way there wasn't mouse poop in my dad's sheds, all over the place at my grandparents' farm, in half my friends' garages, etc. I've learned something about mice: if they can get in, they will, and they are everywhere. I can tell that the garage here isn't sealed against mice, and I am utterly terrified of my family going into it. It is causing me significant anxiety. I feel like I can work on it and be able to let go of worrying about the birds, but I don't see how I can be okay with mice. Now, when I drive around, I look at all the garages I pass and assess their "mouseworthiness".  A good half of them are totally mouseworthy. How are the rest of you people okay with this? Is it because, despite the fact that most of us actually must encounter a fair bit of mouse poop, we don't seem to be dropping off like flies? I try to focus on that, but I can only focus on the 50% mortality rate and this: http://www.cdc.gov/rodents/cleaning/ Okay, it's a total hazmat situation! The CDC says so. But I know people aren't following these precautions. There is no way. I can't even manage it, and I'm totally OCD. I can see no way to seal the garage. I found a few droppings (which I hope were old) and cleaned them, which, for me, was quite traumatic. I go out and check for new droppings (which also traumatizes me), and I don't think I've seen any, but that doesn't help much, since always at any time, a mouse could come in and leave some. When looking for a new home, guess what my top priority will be? Here's a clue: not granite counter tops. It needs to be well sealed against mice. And I'll just have to try to ignore that fact that my kids might encounter mouse poop at other people's homes, because, as I have observed, no one else seems to be worried about it, and half of their garages are open to mice---Hello! How is this not a national crisis?

And, get this, last Sunday, when taking out the recycling, I found a dead mouse in the driveway. Is the universe messing with me? It was awesome for my mental health. Really. Look, predatory animal, thank you for reducing the mouse population, but could you please not leave your dead stuff here? Thanks.