One wouldn't ordinarily think of the barn as a source of temptation. One would be wrong. That camp box hung on the wall stores emergency supplies: teat dilators, thermometer, rubber gloves, betadine, bag balm, and the like. The front drops down, and the top makes a handy shelf for the milk and feed buckets and diaper wipes while I'm working. The box has been taken over by numerous families of mice. Since, fortunately, we've had few emergencies, the mice are rarely disturbed in their high-rise condo. They put up with my daily clanging and thumping of buckets as the goats go through their routine and have yet to put in a complaint.
Ruthie came in for her breakfast and I began to brush her down (each girl gets prettied up for the day). That's when I noticed something dangling from the crack under the box. Hmmm. Looking closer, I could tell it was a mouse's tail. I really, really wanted to give that tail a tweak. A second tail joined the first, side by side, and the temptation grew stronger. That's when my mind went wild...The Telltale Tail (Poe), Tale of Two Tails (Dickens), The End Of the Tail (Paul Harvey). I cracked myself up, chortling as I tried to resist. I'm weak; I'll admit it. Instead of giving the tails a tug, I did stroke with a finger. Either those mice were sound sleepers or the tails are not particularly sensitive because they were not zipped back up as I'd expected, but waved around slowly and finally drawn up (where they belonged). If I'm led into temptation, don't expect me not to follow.