There is a reason I have not updated my blog lately - and it's only partly because I'm going bat-sh*& crazy . . . For the past several days we have been under attack. Gophers here - gophers there - gophers running everywhere. I open my window - I hear gophers. I try to sleep - all I see are their beady little eyes - daring me, mocking me . . . (see, not kidding about bat-sh*& crazy!) Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
I had no choice. I didn't ask for this - it was foisted upon me, much like those web slinging abilities Peter Parker developed when he was bitten by the spider. I became what I swore I would never be . . . a killer.
In all honesty, I'm kind of a 'feel good killer' in the sense that I really don't want these hideous and despicable creatures to suffer . . . much. Well, it's more because I don't know how to shoot a gun, but whatever.
On Saturday, I rallied the troops, and we began earnestly filling gopher hole after hole after hole. Then, we brought out our secret weapon - a hose connected to the exhaust pipe of Mike's truck. Man, you should have HEARD the chirps of terror echoing throughout our yard - It.Was.AWESOME!
At about that time, a neighbour came over with his pellet gun and began to chase the little suckers that were milling about on the lot next to us. He shot for about 10 minutes, shouted in disbelief "they're mocking me!" and went home. Silver lining? I'm not the only one they mock!
Satisfied that our work was complete, we hopped into the truck to make our way back to the house. As I put it into drive, a lone gopher sprinted across the grass, feverishly darting from filled hole to filled hole - desperate for escape. I floored the truck and raced this way and that way chasing that sucker when suddenly there was a small thunk and Mike hollered STOP! Exciting right? Not for the poor little tree that I ran over. And no, the gopher wasn't under it :(
Well, we cleaned up and went about the remaining scheduled activities for our day. Upon our return home that evening we were greeted by the sight of every.freaking.hole.dug.out. Turns out those were not chirps of terror at all, rather gales of laughter and delight at our folly. Weiners.
We are under siege . . . I repeat . . . we are under siege . . .