An F+ in Survival Training, but an A+ in Landscaping

Clark and Sarah spent about five weeks in survival training the first time I went to Utah. They're troopers. Randi and Earl barely passed the pre-survival test in November when they had two nights alone, when I went to the Grand Canyon. They failed miserably when I went to North Carolina and tried to kill each other by getting tangled up in leashes. Last week, due in part to the electrified fence they scathed by. Day One of the Utah trip, I imagine they were mostly confused about why I wasn't home. Day Two, while I was enjoying Bryce Canyon they probably chased each other around until they fell over tired or they annoyed Sarah until she bit them both and took out patches of hair. But I think it was probably Day Three, as I was hiking Peekaboo Canyon, that they began to think about rearranging the landscaping in the backyard. I'm sure that they were thinking that I would be impressed. Maybe they were even thinking that I would reward them with chicken. I really couldn't have understood the scope of their imagination, since I really only have a dirt and dead tree garden. Really, what could they do? But I think that it was probably on Day Four, as I was driving to Capitol Reef that they began to implement their relandscaping project. I can't imagine how long it would have taken the two of them to rip out a branch of the tree and its root, but they did.
Upon my return on Day Six, I was initially very happy to see all four dogs alive and in the backyard (following a phone call from the neighbors in which they expressed their concern for Sarah, not to mention the fact that the dogs were barking a lot at night. Needless to say, I expected the worst.) However, I was impressed that during my absence Randi and Earl had completed a landscaping project, by removing branches and roots.
These talents don't compare to the two of them helping me discover that in fact there is some kind of dead something underneath my house. Life. It doesn't get better than this.

Earl helps me hunt for mice

As it happens, I am not a great house owner. There are many things at my house that are not up to par and need to be fixed. This is because I don’t have a husband. Or at least I think so. If I had a husband he would be able to fix all of these problems for me while I worked on dinner and cleaned toilets. I know this is a rather classic view of male/female roles in the house, but the fact is, I don’t want to deal with some stuff, most noteably: mice. But because I have no husband, I have had to make do and so I have a system for dealing with mice. Upon first seeing the mouse droppings, I ignore them. Then, I talk to the mice and tell the mice that if they don’t bother me I won’t bother them. Inevitably, they don’t agree to this and continue to plague me. Then I call my dad with the mice news hoping that just this one time he will say "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." (He never does. He just says, "It's a homeowner's job.") In the end I have to set the traps and then get out the special BBQ pinchers that I use exclusively for picking up mouse traps filled with mice. There is always a lot of screaming on my part.

So as it happens, I have a mouse problem and a dryer vent that needs repair. This has produced the most spectacular event that Earl has participated in. Twice when I have gone to start the dryer a mouse has run out of the dryer vent. Thus, Earl is convinced that anytime I turn on the dryer a mouse will run out. What this means is that Earl is ready to go when I turn the dryer on. Whenever I go near the dryer, Earl follows me and looks anxiously at the dryer, waiting for the mouse. If I forget to call him he has come running around the corner at the sound of the door opening. Earl has become my go-to guy for mouse hunting.

Last week, after having unsuccessfully negotiated with the mice to leave me alone, I heard one rumbling around in the cabinet. I called Earl and he and I investigated in the kitchen. The investigation looked like this: Me in the middle of the kitchen with the broom poking at cabinets and screaming, "Go away mouse!" and Earl standing in the kitchen looking up at me like he had no idea what his part in this spectacle was. We didn't find any mice that day, but later when I caught five mice in the middle of the night, he was the only one who got up at 1:30 AM and followed me into the kitchen to provide moral support while I screamed and used the special mouse getting BBQ pinchers to pick up mouse traps and throw them into the trash. If only he would learn how to get rid of the mice himself.