And you thought your day was bad!

I found this in an old Christian Womanhood Magazine, dated July 2005. It was a story that brought a smile my way and I thought it might do the same to you!
Did you ever have such a day?

Somehow our house had become infested with mice, and I found myself waging war with some "pretty creatures."
I was setting traps daily but seemingly to no avail. I often found the bait gone and the wooden spring traps were left unsprung. Clever mice! I imagined them laughing profusely at my failure as they scurried away. I tried the harmless baited box traps next, but they held no appeal. Not to be outdone, I turned to the infamous glue traps. "Ah, ha," I said, rubbing my hands together like a mad scientist, "they won't get past the glue!"
Determined to catch one particular varmint who was boldly making his run between my daughter Candace's room and the kitchen, I place a glue trap against the right wall and under her dresser, in the direct line of his path. I moved an unsprung but de-baited wooden trap to the left of the glue trap and prayed for swift results. I wasn't disappointed. It seemed I had barley left the room when I heard the wooden trap spring shut and a pitiful squealing sound begin. I had not anticipated the squealing. The sound was so pathetic that I became instantly miserable at having inflicted upon any creature such pain.
Horrified by its cries, two of my six daughters who were home from school came running toward me, hands cupping their ears. "Mom! Mom! The mouse...it's caught! Do something, Mom. Make it stop!"
"What am I suppose to do?" I shrieked, equally horrified. "I'm not putting my hand under that dresser!"
"You've got to do something, Mom. Pleeeeasssseee!"
About that time a knock sounded at the front door. Dennis, the fiance of my daughter Heather, had stopped by to drop off something fro me before he went to work. I was elated! I ran to the front door and threw it open.
"Dennis! Dennis! Come quick," I exclaimed, "We have a terrible problem. I need your help." I motioned for him to follow me. It was not difficult for him to surmise the situation. My girls were standing in the hallway babbling unintelligible words while doing a jib, as though dancing about the corridor with their ears cupped would solve the problem. Meanwhile the mouse squealed incessantly. Dennis chuckled at our plight. All I could do was say, "Dennis, could you do something, please?"
Quick to take action as masculine men are wont to do when being called upon to rescue damsels in distress, he stooped to look under the dresser and assess the situation. Then he chuckled again and breathed, "Cool."
"Cool?" I thought. I was now perplexed. Reaching under the dresser, he carefully removed both traps. Caught in the glue trap was the mouse's tail. Evidently, as it had tried to free itself from the glue, it had inadvertently stepped onto the wooden trap, thereby springing it. The wooden trap had caught one of its tiny paws. Now caught in both traps, the mouse was squeaking for all it was worth.
Dennis picked up both traps and carried them out our back door and set them on our concrete driveway while he went in search of something with which to end the mouse's agony.
Unfortunately, both of us had forgotten that an inquisitive Shitzu was a temporary resident at our house. Fascinated by the unusual display of noise and wriggling, the dog ran to investigate the source. Dennis yelled, "No!" Before he could stop the pup Mocha, his was stuck fast to the glue. Terrified at his plight, the little dog went into a frenzy of barking, shaking his head, and racing about the yard. The squealing mouse also dangled helplessly from his chin.
Dennis, trying not to laugh at the spectacle, took up the chase; and man, dog, and mouse made the most dreadful commotion ever heard.
After Dennis had finally caught the pup, and the ordeal of dispatching the mouse and freeing the pup was finally over, he came to find me. He found me with my two girls huddled in a corner, grimacing at the thought of the agony I had crated. Dennis tapped me on the shoulder. I unplugged my ears and forced open one eye to look at him.
"Mission accomplished," he reported. "That was the funniest thing I ever saw," he grinned.
"Oh, poor mouse!" I replied, "Talk about having a bad day." I vowed I would never be so inhumane again.

By JoBeth Hooker