Ah, country living.
Josh was outside weed-whacking while I was inside writing a column for Kirkus.
I heard a shriek, and, convinced that Joshua had somehow cut his own foot off*, sprinted across the living room and just barely managed to vault over THE DEAD MOLE that had somehow appeared on the floor sometime over the course of the last fifteen minutes.
Anyway, Josh was fine.
He hit a yellow-jacket nest, so we stood around on the back porch (with the dead mole, who I carried out by his tail) in horrified awe as we watched them swarm the weed-whacker and try to kill it.
*Yes, as I told him, logically, I know that that's impossible. But, you know: Shriek From Outside = Leila's Mind Jumps to Worst Possible Conclusion.