The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2646 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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“We’d like to come the next time you go dormousing,” Trish and Livvie were back.

“Okay, I’ll let you know when I go again.”

“When is that likely to be?”

“I don’t know, I’m too busy to go very often and they only let me know last time because they were short of licence holders.”

“What like a driving license?” asked Livvie.

That’ll teach me to make assumptions, I thought they all knew about licensing for protected animals. Obviously I was in error. “Certain animals are protected by law.”

“Yeah, we know that.”

“So what d’you think that protection means?” I asked trying to ascertain what they actually did know.

“They’re protected, if you touch one we can call the police.”

“That’s right but it also means if you want to touch one you have to have special permission which means you have to have a licence.”

“What is a licence exactly?” she asked. Never assume anything about children.

“It’s permission to do things or have things.”

“Have things?”

“Yeah,” offered Trish, “A driving licence means you can have a drive.”

“What—you need a licence for a drive? D’you need one for a path as well?”

“No—stoopid.”

“Well Mummy said it was to have things as well...”

“Uh yes I did. I meant firearms mainly. You have to have a licence to keep a gun.”

“D’you need one to shoot people too?”

“No, the licence is to keep the gun—usually a shotgun but some people have hunting rifles as well. What isn’t allowed is any sort of handgun, like a pistol.”

“Why?”

“Because of a series of shootings, the last was at a school in Scotland at Dunblane, which is where Andy Murray comes from.”

“Andy Murray shot people in Scotland?”

“No, he lives in the town where some man went on the rampage with a hand gun and shot several children and staff.”

“I thought he lived in Spain,” added Trish.

“I have no idea where he lives these days but he’s from Dunblane and some man shot school kids and teachers there some years ago.”

“He got married there,” observed our resident genius.

“Yes a few weeks ago,” I agreed.

“He bought the hotel.”

“Yes he did,” I agreed again.
“He’s a tennis player, so does he have a licence?”

“To play tennis?” Trish almost gasped at her sister.

“No, for a gun, dopey.”

“I have no idea. Look let’s bring it back to dormice, I know what I’m talking about with them.”

“Do dormice have licences for guns?” Said Trish almost falling about laughing.

“Yeah to shoot weasels an’ things,” said Livvie getting in on the act.

“They’d have to be rather small—is that what they mean by small arms, Mummy?” this was followed by a further fit of giggles.

I had to wait until they’d finished wiping their eyes before saying anything. “Let’s not be silly, shall we?” There were one or two small starts but my stare stopped them in mid merriment. “People who touch or disturb or harm animals mentioned in the Wildlife and Countryside Act, have to have a licence to disturb take or kill the named animals.”

“Kill?” they both gasped.

“Yes, sometimes people studying animals have to kill them for lots of reasons. Usually that part requires clarification, so it’s not just a licence to kill them. Things like badgers and otters are covered.”

“Dormice an’—anything else, Mummy?”

“Water voles and shrews plus all the species of bats in this country.”

“How you catch a bat, Mummy.”

“It usually refers to disturbing them in places like roofs or bell towers.”

“Da bells, da bells...” they both bent over and began making faces and walking sideways parodying Charles Lawton’s Quasimodo. How, he died years before they were born?

“Very funny. So d’you understand now about licensing?”

“How d’you get one?”

“You have to apply to Natural England and be sponsored by two other licence holders.”

“That’s not easy then?”

“No, not just anyone can apply for one, so not just anyone can go poking about in dormouse nests.”

“The dormouse is a bonny bird, it flits from bough to bough...” began Livvie.

“It makes its nest in a rhubarb tree and whistles like a cow,” finished Trish which had them both calling moo at each other. I eventually set them a job to do to make a list of all the animals protected by the Act and they scurried off to switch on their computers or iPads.

I’d barely been able to deal with a few emails before they were back with pages of stuff they’d printed off the internet. “I didn’t ask you to print it all off, I’ve got a copy of it over there, somewhere.” I pointed to the bookshelves.

“So what did you want then?” I was surprised Trish hadn’t added some soubriquet like ‘clever dick’.

“I asked you to compile a list of all the animals protected by the schedule.”

“You said Act not schedule.”

Oh boy, “It means the same. What I wanted you to do was to write me a list of all the animals given protection. Anyone could print it off but I wanted you to understand as well as just find it.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“I just did.”

“Grrr, c’mon, Liv,” they went off again.

Jacquie put the youngsters to bed while I struggled with an email from someone who wanted loads of information. I suggested they contact the university library who may be able to help. I had better things to do than act as an unpaid researcher for someone else’s degree. If they ask me for permission to quote my stuff or use it in a paper, that’s a different matter, at least they’ve read it.

It was nearly an hour later that the two brains returned with a sheet covered in the names of UK animals. I pointed out that they’d missed off protected reptiles and they groaned and returned to their lists. Well if they were going to do something properly; this after arguing that reptiles weren’t animals. We had a debate on what animals were—not just mammals or warm blooded things like birds and mammals. It would also include anything in the animal kingdom, so tomorrow they can look that up and tell me what it means. Okay, I’m trying to stop them becoming vegetables or was that vegetating?

I did get them to bed eventually, they were trying to guess what was in the animal list and I was trying to get them to relax for sleep. In the end I read them one of Kipling’s Just So Stories it did the trick and they finally went to sleep.

When I went two hours later, I didn’t need a story, just Simon asking if I fancied a bit of... I was asleep before he finished the sentence—or so he thought.