Today was one of those days that tend to put things in
perspective and reveal something deeper. I was still feeling a little under the
weather following a heavy cold had laid me up under the duvet for two days and
so instead of my usual full Sunday morning survey I decided instead to embark
upon just a simple visit to replace the video card in my long running Trail Cam
experiment.
I fought my way through the undergrowth that shows no sign
of abating as autumn draws on and reached the camera, as I struggled to find
the key to unchain it I was distracted by movement in the leaf litter. I was
surprised to find a mouse. I had obviously surprised it on my approach but
unusually it had not fled, instead it lay on its side. I bent down to examine
it and noticed that one eye was screwed up and the legs on one side flailed
frantically.
It was clear the mouse, a large Wood Mouse by the looks of
it, was unwell. If you can approach an animal especially a mammal then it is
usually very sick. Carefully I used a twig to turn the mouse over to reveal
that the mouse seemed paralysed. Only the limbs on the left side seemed to be
working. It gasped with an audible wheeze with slow deep breaths.
Another sign of impending mortality was the number of flies
which seemed to be present. It was a warm sunny morning but the flies were
circling for other reasons and alighted on the mouse in anticipation as if they
could sense the mouse’s clock had run down and that here was the offer of one
last egg laying bonanza at the end of the year.
Sentimentality got the better of me and a sat myself down
beside the dying mouse and gentled stroked the fine fur on its back and kept
the flies at bay. Did this soothe the mouse or terrify it more, I don’t know
but at that moment it seemed more important that the mouse did not die alone.
We are species apart; our understanding of our respective worlds was infinitely
at odds but it seemed the right thing to do. The mouse’s breathing continued in
deep gasps and then stopped. There was no tailing off, no shudder, no whimper
or sigh... just nothing. The indescribable glint of agency in the eye had fled.
All ecologists and natural historians must face the death of
the wildlife they study. I have been called to rescue injured animals many
times and some of those failed to survive. I have encountered recently dead
animals and admired the beauty of their form and figure and I have watched the
cycles of nature take place as predator despatches prey, but this was
different. I was there at the end and I was unsure of the cause.
The mouse was perhaps 12cm long not including the tail and
the body was unmarked. It wasn’t thin or malnourished. It struck me then to
banish my growing sadness over the small creatures passing. There was nothing I
could have done to rescue or save it and it had died a natural death. This was
an animal that had successfully completed the game of life. Mice have a short
life span rarely surviving past the winter and rarely longer than 12 months.
This mouse, if a female, could have been pregnant up to six times in its short
live and produced between four and seven pups in each litter; and if male then
it could have sired many litters. Instead of mourning its loss perhaps it was
better to celebrate its short but potentially successful life.
