
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SUNDAY, January 29, 1995                   TAG: 9501300001
SECTION: CURRENT                    PAGE: NRV-2   EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY 
SOURCE: MADELYN ROSENBERG
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

RODENTOPHOBIA RECONSIDERED

I am what you'd call a fair weather camper, meaning: I love being outdoors when the sun is shining, the birds are tweeting their little beaks off, and the rain is haunting, say, Seattle, and leaving my part of the state alone.

But in an office where not one but THREE people have hiked the Appalachian Trail - that's 14 states in rain, snow and weather that would make me and any normal person miserable - one tends to act like more of an outdoorsperson, lest one be considered a wimp. One tends to believe, in fact, that one is an outdoorsperson, and a hearty one at that.

So it was with great expectations that some friends and I went recently to the Shenandoah National Park with one of said trail hikers. We were going to cut wood. We were going to gather and chop wood. We were going to fight for our survival (in a cabin with mattresses to support our backs, a woodstove to would keep us warm, and some lovely instant fondu - just add water). And I could return saying "I've been to the wilderness and won!"

I am not afraid of snakes. Bugs don't bother me too terribly either.

And mice didn't bother me until I started reading the journal in our cabin, which contained numerous mentions of the little Mickeys, Minnies and Mightys playing in the hair of innocent children. And running across the bed. And scurrying about all night.

And mice didn't bother me until I read in this very paper about a threat known around these parts as The Dreaded Hantavirus.

I'm not saying mice can't be cute. Or that the mouse that crawled into our salad bowl to lick up the dressing (which wasn't even blue cheese. Go figure.) didn't have a certain charm.

But I have seen the television commercial that says for every mouse you see there are 15 in hiding. And I have learned that where there is mouse, there is mouse -poop, which spreads the dreaded virus in the first place.

So when we saw that first little mouse staring at us from the safety of the salad bowl, I couldn't help it: I quaked. I may even have uttered "eek." I stood up on a bench and began scanning the cabin for more.

As the trip wore on and I grew accustomed to their furry little faces (flattened in the traps we set) my fear started to wane. After the seventh mouse-trap victim, it vanished completely. But it popped back a few weeks ago when I had a bad cold and wondered, between sniffles, "Could this be it? The dreaded hantavirus?"

It popped back again last weekend when I read about the hiker who actually got the virus.

But then, the incubation period passed.

And so, it seems, has my fear of mice - dead ones, anyway.

The only remaining complication seems to be my feeling toward American cheese. I used to get so much culinary joy from peeling back those tidy plastic wrappers to consume that pasteurized pleasure.

Now it brings but one word to mind: bait.

Madelyn Rosenberg is the Roanoke Times & World-News' assistant new river editor.

by CNB