I have a new accomplishment to add to my resume. I am a Mole Killer…yes – ME!!
Yesterday afternoon as I took the Littles out for a potty break, we headed to our usual spot, where the backyard opens into the grass field behind. We go there because Angus can’t resist peeing on the stump, or the old daffodils there, and it shortens our duty run significantly. If you just walk around the grass, he spends a lot of time on site selection, and then usually forgets what he was there for. Or at least that’s what he acts like; he probably knows full well how to make his outside ventures as long as he can.
Anyway, as he succumbed to the temptation to mark, once again, the stump, I looked down and noticed, with astonishment, a mole’s bum sticking up in the air!
His head was down a hole in the ground, and at first I wasn’t sure that he was alive…But then, I saw movement, like he was taking some deep breaths, about ready to head downward. I just couldn’t stand and watch THAT happen.
But – Oh! the quandary I was in!! Two dogs on the leash in one hand who MUST NOT BE LET GO…and a live mole by the right hand…an UNGLOVED right hand. I thought about letting him go, but despite my squeamishness, I could NOT let him get away. So – courage – I grabbed him by the tail, and stood momentarily paralyzed as to what to do next. I couldn’t stomp him in flip-flops, besides, I had just gotten a pedicure. Ewww…not to mention its ineffectiveness. It would do no good to throw him out in the field. He’d just dig his way back, or into the drip irrigation tape. We already have enough of those problems.
In a split second, it became clear how to execute the execution.
Fortunately, the Littles had not realized what was going on, so I guided them toward the blacktop, while carrying the writhing and doomed mole. And even though I consider moles vermin, and strongly dislike them, and they have no cuteness about them, it was still hard to wind up and let him hit the blacktop with enough force to end his reign of diggery in my flowerbeds.
Of course, at this juncture, the Littles became aware of the opportunity at hand. They pounced on the slowly moving, brain-injured mole, and in concert, delivered the bites that ended the suffering.
And then I had to wrest the Littles away from their prize because GROSS! I put them in the house while they got over being robbed of an awesome opportunity. I went out to confirm that death had occurred. Then, like a cat, I left my prize in a spot where The Farmer would find it.
And he did…but had no idea of the story behind it…Until I enlightened him, and won a new soft spot in his heart for the courage, and quick thinking I displayed. I’m sure he is heartened that he is not alone in his War Against Moles…
Though I have as much chance being struck by lightning as having this happen again.