Telling on myself.

This is going to be one of my few post without pics. This story becomes kind of funny when you know that I grew up on a dairy farm where you are supposed to get used to life and death. Furry creatures die on quite a regular basis, cats getting run over and cut up by farm machinery while out hunting. Butchering comes at least once a year or more if you raise fowl. Cows can become bloated and die before you realize what is happening. All part of farm life. Unfortunately, for me butchering was the day I make myself scarce, as much as I like meat, I could never stand to see my furry creatures suffer or die.
Part two that makes this funny is I am the go to person in this house to take care of the creepy crawlies. Spiders, get Mom to kill it. Bat's, which I discovered once when one got in our house, are my realm. My 6'5 husband is not inclined to those chores, and would prefer someone else remove them. Snakes really don't bother me either, although I have not had to deal with the poisoness kind.
Now starts the story. We have chipmunks (you know, like Chip and Dale), lots of chipmunks, that play tag on my deck, run in and out the garage, hop and skip over the woodpile etc. I live with them very patiently until the day that I notice chipmunk holes in my flower beds. Now this is war, because I have spent a lot of money for bulbs, which chipmunks love. I put out the decree that rat traps need to be set. We set the traps, baiting them with a nice fat chunk of peanut butter, tell the little girls to check the traps for 25 cents per chipmunk and the slaughter begins. That went along well for two days. Tuesday night we caught two almost simultaniously, and the girls come running with the two traps as soon as they heard them go off. They tell me one is still wiggling, as they set it on my outside table. I inform them just let them be until it kicks it's last gasp. I wait a suitable 10 minutes while the girls oooh and ahhh over the dying chipmunk, before I go out to relieve the traps of their victims. Unfortunately I come out and Chip is still wiggling. I come back in the house, a bit shook up, all the while exclaiming how callus my little girls are. Blaise looks over at me and says, "Why are you crying?" as tears drip silently from me eyes. Well needless to say my 18 year old son decided to send Chip to acorn heaven, so that Mom could pull herself together and get back to the task at hand. I guess every one has to have a weak spot and cute furry creatures are mine. Thank goodness I'm not a rancher's wife. Ridding the land of prairie dogs would definitely too much for me.