We have a mole in our yard.
Anyone who has ever had them understands how maddening it is to walk out and find your whole yard uprooted. It’s enough to make you take drastic measures. I have a one acre yard.
And… this afternoon…well, this is hard to say… but… I kind of stabbed the whole yard…
Whew! It feels good to get that off my chest. Now let’s rewind a little. ⬅️⬅️⬅️
I discovered mole tunnels in the front yard about a week ago. Two days ago I saw dirt by our back patio and then followed a trail of dirt and dead grass that meandered all around our huge backyard.
Last night I went to Lowe’s to check out my options.
Mole-killing pellets: may also kill pets, children, or any predators that eat a contaminated mole. Negative.
Pulsating rod: pulsates for five days to scare them away, but we have a really big yard.
Poison to kill off their food source: as in all the bugs in my yard, and it can also affect any creatures that eat the bugs. No way!
Since I wasn’t willing to endanger my kids, our dog, or any other creatures, I decided to sacrifice the mole.
I bought a mole trap. He will die so the others can live. And no, I will not be using this as a metaphor for Jesus.
You may think it’s funny, but this is not a laughing matter, people! My neighborhood’s ecosystem is at stake here!
Today Lyla and I donned our raincoats and boots to go set the trap. Lyla held my hand to balance me while I stood and jumped on it, but the springs wouldn’t budge.
Problem: I am not heavy enough to push down yellow foot pedal.
Solution: Stab all tunnels every 1-2 inches.
Weapon of choice:
It wasn’t quite as dramatic as it sounds. And my original intention was not to stab the whole yard. But I got a little carried away.
It was a satisfying feeling to punch through the dirt into an air pocket and collapse a portion of tunnel. I was reclaiming my yard.
I found myself singing “The Devil Went Down To Georgia,” by the Charlie Daniels Band, while I destroyed the mole’s hard work. I have no idea where that came from.
“The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal.”
Lyla followed along, talking about how she loved killing creatures. I had already had this talk with her this morning. “Our goal is not to kill them. If we can flush them out and relocate- that is ideal.”
This girl was all in, though. She suggested we stick one of Lukey’s poopie diapers in a tunnel. Genius!
Thomas and I are currently watching The Office for the first time. We’re on season three, and last night we watched the episode where Dwight finds the bat in the ceiling. His eyes light up as he finds the feces, and then he gleefully jumps on Pam’s desk and reaches into the ceiling, on the hunt. That was me today.
If I have any obsessive tendencies, it would be in the extermination category.
I systematically worked from the back patio, followed the winding trail into the front yard and throughout the soft flower beds.
“I’ll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul that says I’m better than you.”
As I gouged the soft tunnels over and over, I started to worry, “What if it’s a she-mole? What if I come across a little nest of tiny, naked, blind baby moles?” This, fortunately, did not happen, and Google research tonight confirmed that we are not within their reproduction time window. Shew! Also, I am not in an area where the endangered star-nosed mole lives. See? I care about their well being. If our Lowe’s carries mole killing devices, I must be good to go. Clean conscience. Moving on.
Mole hunter in training.
“Fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow.”
My zeal produced a blister. Yes, that is a midget thumb. Please don’t call it a toe thumb. Fortunately, my children did not inherit that gene. This thumb has been the brunt of alternating shock and pettings its whole little life.
Let’s recap, shall we?
Plan A: Trap
Plan B: Stab
Plan C: Diaper
Problem: Stabbing tunnels didn’t flush out a mole.
Solution: Hubby correctly set the trap.
Problem: I collapsed every tunnel in our yard. If the mole is trapped somewhere far from the trap, he might never make it back to the trap we set.
Solution: Drink some red wine and forget this ever happened. That goes for you, too.
Problem: I live in Ohio now.
Solution: Always a Georgia girl at heart!
“Fire on the mountain, run boys run!
Devil’s in the house of the rising sun.
Chicken’s in the bread pan picking out dough.
Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no…”
To see the Grand Finale of my battle with the mole, click on Whack-A-Mole.