March 23

I am the only one who goes to school from my family.  Throughout the morning, I am subjected to a volley of phone calls:

Sian: Hi Mom, when are you coming home?

Me: Sian, it's 7.20.  School hasn't even started.

Ellie: Mom, when are you coming home?

Me: I'll be home at lunchtime.

Ellie: What are you doing?

Me: Teaching.

Ellie: Oh. 

Ellie: What time will you back?

Me: Lunch time.

Ellie: We found some baby mice.  Can we keep them?

Me: Um . . . well, not sure.

Ellie:  They are very sweet.  Tallulah brought them up to the house and we have been feeding them.

Me: Oh, well that sounds nice.

Ellie: What time will you be home?

When I get home, I am introduced to the four baby mice.  I phone someone for advice as to how to look after them and she suggests Pronutro with water and says it's essential they are kept warm.  John reckons they are rats as he saw an eagle swoop down and then fly away with a rat; it was probably the mother.

One of the babies dies after lunch and another dies mid-afternoon.  The girls are very good at feeding the remaining two every hour, but in the early evening, Ellie's one dies, leaving only one more.  I put it under my top for body warmth and so it can hear and feel my heartbeat.  He is very wriggly and keen to dart off.  Sian takes over and does her best to keep him warm.  I have just gone to bed when Ellie comes and calls me and says he is struggling to breathe.  I cannot describe how sad I feel.  I know the girls have tried so hard all day to keep these little baby mice/rats going and it is obvious this one is going to die too.  A couple of years ago, we tried to save a little bushbaby that fell out of a tree and the same thing happened.  Its breathing became very laboured and then it died. This little thing is so tiny, but everything is perfectly formed; complete.  It dies anyway.