One Right Smart Mole

Moles don't laugh with you
Moles don't laugh with you

Don’t you just love standing out on your porch in the late afternoon of a crisp Fall day, drawing deep full breaths of air still damp and pure from a cleansing shower, and listening to the music of nature all around you? If you stand still long enough the birds and the squirrels will pay you no mind and come close enough that you can almost reach out and touch them. If you relax your breathing and your mind, and focus on the moment the stresses of the day and the troubles of the world will drift away like clouds after the rain. That’s what I was doing a little while ago when I saw him.

It was just a barely perceptible movement caught out of the corner of my eye. It didn’t even register at first, but awareness slowly crept in and I realized what I was seeing. The marauding mole that’s been plowing up my yard was on the move.

I’ve tried traps; I’ve tried poisons; I’ve even tried one of those mole-vibrator-repeller things; nothing worked. So, when I saw that dirt move, and for the first time knew for sure where he was, I knew what I had to do. I went inside and hollered, “Honey, where’s my shotgun?”

“You don’t have a shotgun,” she said.

“Okay fine, where’s your shotgun?”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I need it.”

“Why?”

“I just saw that mole that’s been tearing up the yard and if I hurry I can get him.”

“With a shotgun?”

“Unless you think your pistol would work better. Where is it?”

“Fine, the shotgun is in the closet. Please be careful.”

“Sure, sure.” Two minutes later I was back on the porch, shotgun in hand and pockets bulging with shells. I crept down the stairs and made my way to where I’d seen the dirt move. I waited. Minutes passed and then I saw movement several feet away. I started to close in, but the little bastard had strung a trip wire across the yard. I went down, face first in the mud; the shotgun went off, mortally wounding a magnolia tree, and I could swear I heard the mole giggle.

A minute later my pockets were empty and the yard was full of craters, but still no sign of the mole. I think he somehow stole my box of shells too because when I went in to reload they were gone. Mysteriously, my wife was missing too. I sure hope she’s okay.

If you have any good ideas for getting rid of a right smart mole, please let me know.

Regards,

Tim Couch

Tuck and Roll

Cute, furry, fearless
Cute, furry, fearless

Greetings,

My wish for you today is that you experience a moment of wonder.

Things have been kind of slow here at the CowChows lately. Ice storms have a way of slowing things down, it seems. During this past week while everything was iced over we took to putting bird seed out back for our more Liberal feathered friends. It was nice. They got something to eat and we got to enjoy the show. The only problem came when Senator Squirrel discovered the seeds. Then he would run off all the birds and just sit in the middle of the feeder and stuff his jowls full of seeds. We had plenty of seeds to go around, but there was just something about the way he took over the feeder and wouldn’t let anyone eat until he had his fill.

So, when he showed up I would fling the door open and storm out onto the porch doing my Rottweiler imitation and make a big show to scare him off. At first it worked pretty good. He’d take off like a shot, scamper up a tree, and sit there and twitch his tail and chatter at me. But, after a few days he didn’t scare so easily and I found myself chasing him further into the yard. Sometimes he was back before I even got the snow off my shoes.

This morning I looked out and there he was, plopped down in the feeder, jowls bulging, and not a bird in sight. I threw open the door and charged onto the porch. He looked up, fainted right and then dove left. He went to the ground, but then he stopped. He just looked at me as if he knew I was all noise. So I started down the porch steps after him, and I made it as far as the landing. There was still ice on the landing.

My shoe hit the ice and kept right on going. I was immediately in full blown FDD (Falling Down Denial). That’s when you’re obviously going down but haven’t quite accepted it yet. FDD is also sometimes known as the Falling Down Dance. Fortunately, on my way down I remembered to tuck so my wrist and shoulder took the brunt of the fall. Unfortunately, I don’t roll quite so good anymore so it was more of a “tuck and splat.” After determining that everything still wiggled like it was supposed to I peeled myself up off the ice. The squirrel was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear him laughing somewhere up in the tree. I limped back toward the house brushing ice and bird crap off my clothes, and went inside where I belonged.

The thing is, the birds didn’t ask us to feed them. They didn’t ask me to chase away the squirrel. The ice storm came and we decided they needed us to take care of them when they most likely could have taken care of themselves. And the funny thing is, come the next ice storm we’ll do it all over again. Go figure.

Until next time, Brother, when life trips you up, tuck and roll.

Fraternally yours,
Tim Couch