Mice

“They was so little,” he said, apologetically. “I’d pet ’em, and pretty soon they bit my fingers and I pinched their heads a little and then they was dead—because they was so little.”

Well, he seen this girl in a red dress. Dumb bastard like he is, he wants to touch ever'thing he likes. Just wants to feel it. So he reaches out to feel this red dress an' the girl lets out a squawk, and that gets Lennie all mixed up, and he holds on 'cause that's the only thing he can think to do.

"... Here—feel right here." She took Lennie's hand and put it on her head. "Feel right aroun' there an' see how soft it is."

"Look out, now, you’ll muss it." And then she cried angrily, "You stop it now, you’ll mess it all up." She jerked her head sideways, and Lennie’s fingers closed on her hair and hung on.

I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad with it, George. Jus’ strokin’ it.

I like to pet nice things. Once at a fair I seen some of them long–hair rabbits. An’ they was nice, you bet. Sometimes I’ve even pet mice, but not when I could get nothing better.

And Lennie said softly to the puppy, "Why do you got to get killed? You ain’t so little as mice. I didn’t bounce you hard."

"God damn you," he cried. "Why do you got to get killed? You ain’t so little as mice." He picked up the pup and hurled it from him.