I live in the middle... rural America. 116 acres that have been in the family since 1901. I'm 7 minutes from a grocery store, 25 minutes from a movie theater, and an hour from an international airport. I don't live in the outback.... but I don't live in a town either. I love it here. I love the quiet, the peace, the seclusion... I love that nature is literally right outside my door. But that's where it stops. Nature is supposed to be outside my door... not inside.
I can live with the struggle against the yearly invasion of sugar ants... I can even deal with the constant fight against the invasion of mice... I deal with Deer (that lick my window screens and eat my garden), Opossums (that rummage through my trash), and Skunks (that choose to live under my porch), and Frogs (that occasionally hop right inside). Ok... I draw that line at Frogs in my house. I drew it this week.... I didn't intend to kill the frog... I swear. I normally catch the little buggars and put them back outside WHERE THEY BELONG! But this poor dead frog didn't play by the rules. I didn't see the frog that was hanging out on my living room floor... and he/she didn't jump. What kind of Frog doesn't jump? I know... the dead kind. I STEPPED ON THE FROG with my BARE FEET! I feel for the frog... but it was so GROSS! ugh...
It still gives me the ick willies just thinking about the squish.
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