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These stories have been generously sent in by some of our avid fans!! - Well done boys! - The Hunter.
Small Game - Vermin Hell
Once upon a time there was a calm peaceful boy called Iain. Then came the mice......
It began with little scratching noises late at night, but within a week they had started eating Iain's left over Lamb Tikka Jalfreizi that Iain was saving for breakfast.Then they shat in Iain's wok. Things had gone too far ...... Justice was calling. Iain tried rubbing the local stray cat all over the walls and carpet (this is a true story by the way) but the mice ignored this. Poison didn't work either as Iain's flat was so disgusting that there were much nicer things to eat on the floor.This would be the meeces undoing. Iain bought four steel mousetraps and two wooden ones. Best results were obtained with curry or chicken fat as bait. A good kill rate was obtained with the steel traps giving best (and most spectacular) results. However the mice eventually grew wary of traps so more extreme measures were called for. As founder member of the North West London Vigilance committee Iain was horribly beweaponed, although he did stop short at borrowing the nice 9mm pistol from the gun club he frequented (shame!). However Iain was the proud owner of a .177mm steel ball bearing firing pistol. (manual feed, 18 round capacity). Two mice were notably despatched: Victim one was heard scurrying around in the space below the rings of the baby belling cooker and was point blank splatted. (K-Thwakk) Victim two was found inside an almost empty brown curry take-away bag. Mouse was released into the bath and allowed to run around in order to offer more challenging target practice. After several successful body shots the mouse slowed down enough that Iain was able to lean in close and blow the fucker's curry stealing head off. (It was a mercy killing). These exploits are several years ago in the past, but it was with some glee that Iain recently moved into an old Victorian house in Finsbury Park that must have mice, if it doesn't he'll buy them. The glory days will return but this time he'll take photo's. P.S. Always check your traps especially the ones in out of the way places, otherwise you will have a room full of a strange smell and a mummified dead mouse in your trap.
Iain Houston
Small game - a trapper remembers
Mice, you say?
I know only too well the suffering they cause, with their scratching and scurrying noise keeping you awake, their chewing at your food, their droppings everywhere. For many years I have been hunting these little devils, and I'll gladly share a few of my campfire tales with you. My mice came chewing their way through the walls from the next flat, where my friend and neighbour had been trying to solve his problem by throwing money at it (both figuratively and literally - he bought airguns and traps, but he also used to fling handfuls of small change at the mice in frustration). I saw the first one one as I lay in bed one night with a good book. It scurried out from under the cooker, and taunted me from across the room. I threw the book at it. The book missed. So I got up and fetched my darts. Cold steel - they don't like it up 'em. I sat up waiting for it to show its head again. Didn't hit it when it reappeared, but a tungsten-tipped dart thudding into the floorboards must surely have put the wind up it. It was gone to earth before I had time to throw the other darts. But I threw them anyway. Made me feel better. Time to get serious. I set up a trap-line, good old-fashioned 'Little Nippers' set with a range of baits, and waited for the kills to start racking up. Experience soon taught me that though chocolate (still half-wrapped in its shiny foil) and morsels of fresh curry could get results, you still can't beat extra-mature cheddar if you want to lure the little devils into your trap. Some people asked why I didn't use "those humane traps you can get" which capture a mouse unharmed so you can release it safely into the wild, neutralising the mouse problem. Don't they understand? These mice have invaded my home, stolen my food. I don't want them neutral, I want them dead. The Bushido creed of the Samurai rodent-hunters says it best; "When a mouse stands against you he is your enemy. An enemy does not deserve mercy". Words to live by, I think you'll agree. I had plenty of successes - two in one night, once. But one mouse - perhaps it was that first one I'd failed to dart - became the bane of my trapping career. This one particularly wily mouse, which I decided to christen "The General", had learned to steal the bait out of the traps. Many mornings, I'd find a trap still sprung, but with the cheese gone. What to do? I resorted to the last desperate measure known - needlework. All it took was a cube of Cathedral City, a needle and half a metre of white thread. It took moments to thread the cotton through the cheese, and use it to tie it securely in place on the trap. Let it try to dislodge it now, I thought. Then I was suddenly called away for a week on urgent family business. When I got back and opened the door, the ripe, sickly smell of putrid rodent told me I'd had a success, probably several days ago. Indeed, there was the trap, with the cheese still tied in place. And there, somewhat discoloured now, and very "gamy", was a dead mouse. Was it The General? All I can say is, no mouse ever took cheese from one of my traps again. You were a worthy opponent, General. I salute you. Of course, even with him gone, there were plenty of other mice. I managed to keep their numbers down, usually making my kills with the traps, but once having to go in and finish the job hand-to-hand. I was woken by the sound of a trap springing - amazing how an experienced hunter's senses pick up that sound so swiftly - and found that the mouse had been flung, badly wounded, clear of the trap. It was the small hours, I was half asleep. The only tool I could think of for mercy killing was the broom handle. It wasn't pretty or clean, but it was quick. I've moved now, to a place where the little devils haven't made their home. But I know they get everywhere, and if they come visiting, they'll find me prepared. I see by your website that you too are part of the brotherhood of hunters. It is good that you are there to tell of the eternal struggle for survival between man and rodent. I like the pictures especially.
Le Duc De Richelieu
