MR. CHIEF

by

Helen Gibbs Pohlot

Something dark bolted across the family room floor.  Was it my imagination or did I actually see something?

Deciding to ignore it as a mere optical illusion I went on with my work.  Seconds later out of the corner of my eye I saw movement, not just once, but twice.

“OH MY GOD!” I screamed jumping up on the couch.  Two mice were running boldly back and forth across the family room floor. In the 14 years we’ve lived at this house in Bucks County, PA mice sightings were rare, limited to one or two a winter season.

Two in broad daylight with the outdoor temperature around 50 degrees was unusual, not to mention creepy.

With no one home but me, I was left to my own resources to dispose of the dark little critters.  They didn’t seem scared just rather playful as they ran around while I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Jumping from chair to chair in the family room, I finally reached the entrance to the kitchen where I could get a broom, my weapon of choice.  I needed to be sufficiently armed to deal with the mice invasion.  As I went to leap on the kitchen floor, I misjudged the distance from the chair top to the step and fell backwards landing flat on my back.  It gave me an eyeball view of the two mice huddled by the fireplace.

Were they laughing at me? Could be, I thought.

Despite minor injury, within seconds I was off the floor and standing on the kitchen chair
scouting that room for additional vermin.

Meanwhile the crashing bang of my landing must have awakened Mr. Chief from his afternoon nap upstairs.  Chief, my beloved Golden Retriever slowly descended the stairs and looked at me standing on the kitchen chair.

“Chief look at those two mice,” I shrieked pointing toward the fireplace.

At first Chief paid no attention, but when the mice moved he sprinted across the room blocking them in front of the fireplace log holder.

For a 12-year old, 100 plus pound dog sprinting is no easy task. As a matter of fact, any type of running usually involves a substantial treat. But, Chief was on his game. Like days of yore his responses were acute, his senses aware, plus he was fast with the agility of a pup. He waited patiently. He did not pounce or growl. He just waited for them to make a move. Every muscle in his body was poised for action.  These mice did not belong in his house. He knew it and so did I, but how do we get them out?

Suddenly I had an idea, but it involved cooperation from Chief.  I thought if we could get them in the sun room/conservatory found adjacent to the family room the mice just might run out the back door.

Easier said than done!

While Chief guarded the mice, I ran to open the conservatory door. The room has a back door which opens to the rear yard. I looked for the back door key. For the last 14 years it has been under the small tray on the bar next to the door.  Not today.   I couldn’t find it.

“Where is that key,” I screamed. It was nowhere to be found probably because my husband Bruce moved it while working there the day before.

The pressure mounted. Chief maintained his post guarding the two renegade mice.

The idea to get them outside failed because of my inability to find the door key.

However, if we got them in the conservatory maybe they would stay there until I went to the store for a trap. I hated to trap them. The sound of the snap seemed horrible. I was trying to think of any possible alternative to killing them.

We had no choice, it was now time to put my plan in action.

“Chief, try and get them to move into the conservatory,” I said gesturing toward the conservatory door.

Chief looked at me and moved backwards. It gave the mice a hopeful signal.  They could
now make a run for it. They probably thought how fast can this fat dog move?    Surprise! Surprise!

As they sprinted to the left, Chief corralled them towards the conservatory door. With split second timing he moved around, nudging the mice through the door into the conservatory. I quickly shut the door relieved they were out of the family room.

“Good boy Chief, you were awesome,” I said hugging him dearly.

We watched through the glass door as the two mice ran around playfully.

I couldn’t stand it.  I have to get them out. Let me try one more attempt to find the key.  I moved swiftly when the mice ran to the garage side of the room.  I opened the conservatory door, closed it behind me and ran toward the bar.  Sitting on atop the bar were several papers Bruce left from his work the previous day.  Maybe the key was caught in there? I was right.  Lodged between two papers I found the key. I quickly opened the back door, but the mice were hiding on the opposite side of the room. I needed to bring in the enforcer.

“Chief come on! Let’s get these mice out of here,” I called.

I let Chief into the conservatory. He quickly found the mice.  Moving his paw with expert precision in the direction of the mice, they began running in circles.  Chief was right on their tail, following, and gently tapping, steering them toward the back door.

Within minutes he had them safely out the door, much like a hockey player guiding a puck toward the goal.

Whew, they were gone! I slammed the door eternally grateful for such a courageous and smart dog.

“You did it Chief! Great Job!” I hailed.  “My knight in shining fur.”

Maybe it just goes to show the difference between cats and dogs. A cat would have eaten the mice while a dog gave them their freedom.