There are a couple things I need to get off my chest.
First, our county passed a law or an ordinance a few years ago that made it very illegal to trap, poison or kill moles and other "wildlife." While I voted in favor of this law, I admit that I'm still annoyed by the molehills in our lovely, dandelion-ridden lawn. The lawn is far from perfect, but it doesn't need any help looking worse!
Our dear Charlie, the laziest 23-lb. cat you've ever heard of, caught us a mole a few months ago, and considerately, he left it on the doorstep. Thanks, Kitty. Good boy. I thought that was the end of it, that he was so lazy and fat that it had to be a fluke, like maybe it was a deaf, gimpy mole who had the misfortune of tunneling up right where Charlie happened to be napping in the sun, and WHAM! The opportunist struck, thereby ending the sad life of the deaf, gimpy mole.
Apparently not. Chuck left us another prize on the doorstep last week. Thanks again, Kitty. Good boy.
Confession The First: I couldn't bring myself to, but I REALLY wanted to touch the fur on these dead moles. You've heard of moleskin, right? They looked so soft. Like,the softest things I'd ever seen. I wanted Lawnboy to skin them and make me gloves, but he wouldn't. For some reason, it was more acceptable for me to touch the fur after it had been detached from the rest of the poor guy's guts and such. Why???
Confession The Second: We're the type of parents who turn a dead mole on our doorstep into a science lesson for our 7-year old. Lawnboy found the dead dear on his way to work at 5 am, and kindly stuck it into a shoebox so we could all examine it at a more reasonable hour. Does that make us sick? I don't think so, it's nature. The field guide to North American Mammals tells us that this little guy was a broad-footed mole, or a Scapanus Latimanus, although I'm not 100% convinced, because they aren't supposed to live this far north.
This brings us to Confession The Third: We accidentally left that shoebox full of dead mole on the top of our milk box. We are also the type of parents who have milk delivered weekly, so there happens to be a galvanized cooler at our front door, so that our milk can stay relatively cold until we get home on Mondays. Sometimes we leave little notes inside the box. Other times, we leave little things like bags of cookies as a thank-you for the milkman. This time, we left our poor milkman a lovely dead mole. He must have kids too, as the box was placed gently aside, and the milk deliveries have kept up, uninterrupted since our little gift.
We've really got to tip him big this month.
First, our county passed a law or an ordinance a few years ago that made it very illegal to trap, poison or kill moles and other "wildlife." While I voted in favor of this law, I admit that I'm still annoyed by the molehills in our lovely, dandelion-ridden lawn. The lawn is far from perfect, but it doesn't need any help looking worse!
Our dear Charlie, the laziest 23-lb. cat you've ever heard of, caught us a mole a few months ago, and considerately, he left it on the doorstep. Thanks, Kitty. Good boy. I thought that was the end of it, that he was so lazy and fat that it had to be a fluke, like maybe it was a deaf, gimpy mole who had the misfortune of tunneling up right where Charlie happened to be napping in the sun, and WHAM! The opportunist struck, thereby ending the sad life of the deaf, gimpy mole.
Apparently not. Chuck left us another prize on the doorstep last week. Thanks again, Kitty. Good boy.
Confession The First: I couldn't bring myself to, but I REALLY wanted to touch the fur on these dead moles. You've heard of moleskin, right? They looked so soft. Like,the softest things I'd ever seen. I wanted Lawnboy to skin them and make me gloves, but he wouldn't. For some reason, it was more acceptable for me to touch the fur after it had been detached from the rest of the poor guy's guts and such. Why???
Confession The Second: We're the type of parents who turn a dead mole on our doorstep into a science lesson for our 7-year old. Lawnboy found the dead dear on his way to work at 5 am, and kindly stuck it into a shoebox so we could all examine it at a more reasonable hour. Does that make us sick? I don't think so, it's nature. The field guide to North American Mammals tells us that this little guy was a broad-footed mole, or a Scapanus Latimanus, although I'm not 100% convinced, because they aren't supposed to live this far north.
This brings us to Confession The Third: We accidentally left that shoebox full of dead mole on the top of our milk box. We are also the type of parents who have milk delivered weekly, so there happens to be a galvanized cooler at our front door, so that our milk can stay relatively cold until we get home on Mondays. Sometimes we leave little notes inside the box. Other times, we leave little things like bags of cookies as a thank-you for the milkman. This time, we left our poor milkman a lovely dead mole. He must have kids too, as the box was placed gently aside, and the milk deliveries have kept up, uninterrupted since our little gift.
We've really got to tip him big this month.
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