Mousetopia

It wasn’t until we were driving away from our original destination of Cowra to its outer limits that I realised I may have booked the wrong park. Driving over the river there seemed to be a lovely park nestled on the banks with lush green grass, nice amenities and within walking distance to town. No, not for us. As we continued to drive out of town we came upon a wonky old entrance sign and a house that had seen better days and a park full of dirt. This was home for the next 2 nights. Just us and the fire walking mice.

The brochure described it as rustic, I describe it as mousetopia crossed with a train station. After viewing the amenities which had not been touched since the 1960,s and were covered in vivid pink swans we settled down in what was called on the website ‘the rustic untouched outdoor area’ complete with a fire pit, train station signs, bench seats from train stations, train bits, train lights and 4 bits of wood for a 7 degree evening. The Husband went in search of sticks and bark (the ultimate hunter gatherer).

We noticed the odd scurry across the floor and as the heat started to build the movement became more frenzied. Tiny mice everywhere were coming and going, but instead of leaping from the flames they headed into them. In they would go and out they would come. Some went in but did not come out, would we wake up in the morning and find the mass charred remains of suicidal mini rodents. Some went in one side and came out the other, they were fire walking.

Now if we were home in the city I’d be running screaming from just the sight of a mouse but here in the country we sat fascinated for ages treating it like entertainment. I wonder if the people in the posh park up the road were being treated to a mouse spectacular. I don’t think so.