My best husband is playing his own personal game of whack-a-mole. Not the fun arcade game with rubber mallets and animated moles randomly popping out of holes, but his own personal hell whack-a-mole, right in our own back yard.
It started insidiously enough. A stroll through the back yard revealed a few soft spots. Mole tunnels or just disrupted turf from the recent sprinkler installation? He brushed them off. Who wants to enter Mole Hell if he doesn’t have too?
But, a few fateful days later, the mole invasion was in full swing, with a mass of tunnels leading directly from the neighbor’s yard into ours. Turns out the neighbor is taking the path of least resistance, and spraying mole repellent instead of killing the buggers. So now, just like Russia in 1917, we’re waging two wars: one with the neighbor, and the other, much more foreboding one, the war of the moles.
Best husband, henceforth known as The Mole Warrior, pulled out his heretofore tried and true mole weapon: the poison smoke bomb. The idea is to find the dominant mole tunnel, light the fuse and slide the bomb into the tunnel. The poison smoke fills the tunnels, the moles are, ahem, eliminated, and problem solved. The next day Mole Warrior goes out to check on the mole tunnel and finds the smoke bomb flung out into the yard from a hastily dug hole, with the fuse clearly snuffed out before it could release its lethal dose. Okay moles, game on.
The Mole Warrior pulls out all the stops. A trip to the armory, er, hardware store, yields a whole case of poison smoke bombs and a large carton of poison peanuts. Yum. Mole Warrior adds a large pile of rocks, which he uses to plug up the exits on the tunnels after he drops in the smoke bombs. Then, the warrior watches and waits. Each day he patrols the yard for new mole tunnels. If he finds a hint of a new tunnel, in go the poison smoke bombs, poison peanuts and more rocks. Lots of rocks. Our yard is starting to look like a gravel pit.
At first, no progress. The invasion continued, then perhaps ebbed. The Mole Warrior thought maybe the new tunnels were dwindling, but, maybe not.
But soon, all doubt is erased. Like ardent Israeli settlers, the moles have regrouped. Apparently undaunted by the poison smoke and peanuts, their tunnel system has grown, rivaling that of the New York City subway. Each day we notice little additions – a new condo here, a dog park, Starbucks, Whole Foods. These moles don’t mess around.
After we watched the latest addition of Menard’s, and a Gymboree, I gently suggested that it might be time to call in the professionals. You know, the trained mole warriors who get paid to play Whack-a-mole in our yard. But not yet. The Mole Warrior has gone shopping again, this time returning with, a rubber mallet.
© Huffygirl 2012
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Hilarious. Boys and their toys! Though moles are resilient little critters. Good luck!
Thanks Lisa. I think we’re making progress now – haven’t seen any new condos going up for awhile.
Ah yes, It’s such fun to be under attack by the cute little critters. Groundhogs (aka woodchucks) think they own my mother’s yard, and I’m not entirely sure they’re wrong. I suspect the hill her house sits on top of is about 40 percent groundhog tunnels by this time, and they just keep digging.
Guess it’s always groundhog day at your mom’s house
So funny, especially: “like ardent Israeli settlers”
Thanks Bella. After all, what could BE more ardent than an Israeli settler?
Lol! Hell hath no fury like a mole-scorned husband. Ha!
That’s for sure Angelia. Can’t let the moles know that they’re smarter than you!
Had me laughing out loud, HG. Yes, men must do it themselves, no matter what the outcome.
Glad I could make you laugh Susan. Men! What else can we say. He did eventually manage to get the moles in check at the moment – didn’t have to get out the whack-a-mole mallet. They’re currently back at the neighbors, putting in new settlements.
I must say that this story has been somewhat fictionalized to enhance it’s entertainment value. I never doubted my ability to prevail over the moles. I have had enough practice now that I am now the “professional”.
Fictionalized? What! It all happened exactly like this, including the part about the moles putting in condos and a Gymboree. Really, I’m shocked, shocked that you would even suggest that.
That sounds like a lot of effort. When my moles bother me it takes but one call and they’re gone: the dermatologist.
Oy – why didn’t we think of that. My dermatologist is a real hottie too – I’d love having him come over here to perform some professional services.