The Day I Flew

Hello. My name is Dino. I am a mouse.

I am usually a very fastidious mouse, who likes to keep everything in its rightful place. I don’t like a dirty nest, you see. I like gathered food sorted into piles. Like goes with like. I keep it all separated from my bed, of course. And frankly, I prefer to eat outside of the nest so as not to leave a mess. But this isn’t about my eating habits. I meant to be concise.

Like I said, I am usually a very fastidious mouse. I travel the same paths every day, as much as I can. Until something changes. If my clearing runs out of foods to forage. Or if there are rumors of a cat in the neighborhood. But more or less the same paths every day. I like the way my paths smell. I know I’ve trodden there before.

But on Tuesday, I went outside to find nothing familiar. I hadn’t been outside in a few days, because I had gotten a terrible flu. The McGregors had brought me some acorn broth. Very good for your digestion. Anyway. Everything had changed. The beautiful towering blades of grass I had grown to love lay flat on the ground like dried spaghetti sticks spilled on the floor. And there was a terrible humming in the air. A rattling bass clicking in the distance. Or so I thought. It grew loud quickly, and though I tried to dive back into the front hole-way of my nest I was swept up in the dried grass into a giant churning metal screw.

I tumbled and tossed and scrambled my way along the tines of this dreadful device when I found myself jammed into a thick stack of dried grass. Normally, not an unpleasant experience. Downright cozy in the winter. But frankly, I was squished. And my blood sugar was low. And I was weak. From the flu. Like I said.

I wriggled as hard as I could, but my little mouse legs had gotten wrapped around a few strands of grass that were now tightly matted. And the noise! The racket, you wouldn’t believe. I couldn’t hear myself think. And just as I think I’m going to suffocate from the stuffy grassy air I’m buried in, I feel a slight draft. It seems the whole mess of grass was being pushed along. I could feel my right front paw was cool from the air. Aha! I thought. My escape!

A couple of mighty tugs, with a few graciously helpful bumps from the hell machine, and I was finally on the outside of the grass bundle. Except the familiar ground was trotting along beneath me! I had never known such a velocity. I didn’t dare leave the vehicle I found myself on. I clung tightly to a tuft of dead grass sticking out from the block, trying to think.

And then I WAS FLYING.

All I remember was a monumental SPROING and a fluttering breeze encompassing my whole body as my gut moved weightlessly in a giant arc. The blend of heart-numbing fear and unparalleled adrenaline is nothing I think I’ll every experience again. And before I had time to tuck my tail between my legs I was on something solid again.

A mountain of dead grass in an unusually rectangular pattern spread out before and below me. I was a good 1,000 tails above the ground. And this is where I’m writing from. What I really want to say is, I need help. I need help. I’m trapped up here, and I don’t know where my home is anymore. Please come find me if you find this message. Sorry my story is so long, I just needed to say I need help. But I thought context would be necessary. I meant to be more concise. Sorry.

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A hay baler packs hay, scoots it forward and then launches it into the air onto the wagon, where someone (me) stacks it. The above, if you're wondering, is inspired by a mouse I saw emerging onto the launching end of the hay baler we used the other day.