I have never been a hunter. Angler - yes. Hunter - no. But this weekend I did experience a small taste of hunting, and I am reporting somewhat confused about my feelings of success. The story starts like a hundred other Saturday morning stories. The boy, the dog and I are playing with our food at the breakfast table. Well, the boy is playing with his food and the dog and I are trying to wake up. Then I hear a scream from the other end of the house. It is the wife and she has seen a small varmit scurry into the boys closet. A mouse (the prey). We had recently had a sighting of one of these little targets and after setting out a trap for almost an entire weekend (while said boy, dog and wife were out of town) without any bites I had given up thinking the neighbor's cat had done his God given duty.
I responded quickly. Taking a piece of bread from the boy's breakfast and a small finger biting trap to the sighting spot. Set the trap, snapped the trap on my finger, set the trap again with said bread, closed the door and stuffed a cloth under the door to keep the prey from escaping. We left for the park and when we came back... victory.