Jill woke me at dawn this morning. She said, “We’ve got a house full of mice!” Our cats had already gotten two of them. As I stepped groggily from the bed, Simon chased another down the hall. Sofi had yet another cornered in the living room. Fortunately our two cats are good at catching mice. Unfortunately, mice are smart about getting caught. Instinctively, mice know that if they play dead, the cat will get bored and walk away. Our cats did exactly that. “Let’s focus!” I scolded them. Jill wasn’t exaggerating, there seemed to be a lot of mice in the house. Early morning happens to be the cats’ breakfast time and we couldn’t put off feeding them, which, needless to say, was a great distraction from mousing.

The mice got in because I had opened holes in the walls on two floors to run some new electricity. (If you’ve got an old house, you’ve got mice in your walls.) I had left the walls open for nearly a week because it’s too hot to work. We’ve stopped doing all of the chores we normally do around the house in the summer. Our window-unit air-conditioners aren’t especiallly good. They sort of keep us cool, the house temps hovering about 80-84 degrees. Outside offers no relief, even at night. Last night I was watering the front yard at 1:00 A.M. and one of my neighbors trudged by walking her four greyhounds. “It’s the only time we’re comfortable,” she said, “and even this is hardly good enough.”

Jill and I have cabin fever, I’ve decided. Sure, cabin fever is usually associated with being cooped up in winter. But it applies to a bad summer too. We got so desperate for relief that we took the dogs to the woods late yesterday and went wading in one of the Gunpowder creeks. Frieda, our basset hound loves to swim. All of us got plenty wet. Then we stopped to pick raspberries. When we got home, despite the heat — or, rather, to defy the heat — Jill and I made raspberry pies. That’s not exactly ideal food for this weather but we didn’t complain.

There’s no relief in sight for this too-hot Baltimore summer, I’m afraid. And, for the next couple of weeks, you can bet that Jill and I will be a bit jumpy in the house — until the cats evacuate all of our little visitors. Just now we caught another: I chased it into an empty tomato sauce can. Jill was going to help me bag it but then it leapt away when Jill recoiled at the sight of its tail draped over the can edge — Eek!  ”Oh, well,” I said, “we’ll get it eventually.” Jill laughed and laughed. I love a woman with a sense of humor.

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Last night, I came home from the grocery store and set my bags on the kitchen counter. For dinner, I’d bought a roasted chicken from Whole Foods. Those chickens aren’t cheap (cheep) but they’re really convenient. We get two meals from one, then make soup from the left-overs.

My groceries parked, I went upstairs to see Jill. She was on the internet, reading about Hartford, CT, which we’re going to visit next week. I checked my own email. Ten minutes later, we both went downstairs to put away the groceries.

The first thing I noticed was that the cardboard carrier for the roasted chicken container was lying on the floor. I knew this was trouble. Frieda, our basset hound, is notorious (in our household) for stealing food from tables and countertops. I thought I’d put the chicken in a safe place, six inches from the counter’s edge. Frieda isn’t a big dog, but she’s long and, where food is concerned, she’s willing to stretch. Jill and I have been amazed at her ability to get things she really wants from hard-to-reach places.

This time, we were doubly amazed. Within the span of ten minutes, she had not only sneaked the chicken — quietly — from the countertop, but then carried it into the pantry, where she wouldn’t be heard. And then she ate the entire chicken. She left nothing behind, not even a nib of bone. Ten minutes.

Jill and I howled in protest and moaned our regret and frustration. Frieda just stared up at us expectantly, wagging her tail. She was still hungry. Since we had NOT caught her in the act, we couldn’t scold or punish her. But we were pissed off, me especially, as I had to make dinner.

What made it all the more painful for us was the fact that Frieda doesn’t exactly enjoy eating—it’s not like she takes her time or savors the flavor. She just gobbles down whatever she can as fast as she can. This is a dog that will eat her own turds on occasion. Now, let me confess that we have had Frieda on a diet. She was getting heavy, which can cause basset hounds back problems. But, the truth is, she was just as ravenous when she wasn’t dieting as she is now.

Basset hounds are all nose. They want nothing but food, it seems, and will spend most of their waking hours sniffing it out and then go to any lengths to get at it. The only good thing about this trait, at least in Frieda’s case, is that she’ll eat anything –really, anything–you give her. This comes in handy when she needs medicine. Hand her a pill, any kind of pill, and she’ll eat it without hesitation. If you want to see an example of her appetite, check out this video:what will Frieda eat?

After Frieda ate the whole chicken, we worried that she might have some problems digesting her treat. She had a perceptible bulge in her belly but she slept well and, apparently, she’s not going to suffer either indigestion or constipation. She possesses exceptional genes, we have decided–survivor genes. She’s a dog that could live through strive and famine and nuclear war because she will not be thwarted. In her way, Frieda is a super dog.

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