Moles are not my friends

I have been spending a lot of time this spring in a little patch of garden in front of our house (pictures to come later). It's been a really great hobby, and I'm especially proud of it. I've got African marigolds, alyssum, mums, hyacinth and daffodils, snapdragons, petunias, vincas, and have even grown some French marigolds and pincushion flowers from seeds. I'm very proud of my flowers so far.

I discovered this pride was edging on the point of obsession when I found, before work and about a week ago, a line of soil, pushed up from the bottom, that went right through the middle of my alyssum. I'm not sure if it was a vole or a mole, but it filled the depths of my insides with anger. Those blasted varmints and their disgusting taste for spring grubs! I stepped on all the pushed up earth and stormed off to work, no doubt speeding most of the way. The next morning I found another line of pushed-up earth, this time going through the marigolds, under a bush, and pushing up some portulaca. Once again I pressed down all the dirt and started looking at mole traps online.

The next day was more of the same, and then more of the same, and my anger continued to mount. Then, yesterday, Ellie and I were outside playing with a softball. I went in for a few minutes, and when I came back outside a new line of dirt was pushed up! That sneaky devil! I started stepping on all of the dirt that was pushed up, and when I stepped on the last foot-sized patch of dirt, it immediately pushed right up again! I had cut off his little tunnels, and now I knew exactly where he was! Aha!

I ran back inside and to the back and grabbed an old fireplace poker that I just happened to have in the back patio and then came running back through the house with it (Kim is used to this sort of thing by now). When I got back to the front of the house, the ground was still wiggling in that spot, and I viciously buried the point of my poker into the earth. I might have done so about fifteen times. And I might have been screaming "DIE, DIE, DIE!"

This was soon followed by, "What are you doing, Dad?" from Ellie, who watched the whole event with quiet astonishment.

There was no blood or brains on my poker (I have to admit I kind of hoped there would be), but that little patch of dirt didn't move any after I was done, and the weren't any trails of pushed-up dirt in my garden this morning. My chest was puffed up with a grand sent of manly conquest for the rest of my Saturday. The following clip best describes my feelings through this whole event: