I watched yesterday as the new lone mole hill by the bird table turned into three mole hills. The bottom mole hill was first and was there when I woke up yesterday. I actually saw it getting bigger at one point! The little nearsighted creature was pushing dirt up as I watched.
By dinner time yesterday there were three mole hills where previously there were two. Why do they like my lawn when there is a HUGE field just a few metres away.
This morning I watched the mole make the top mole hill bigger. I could see him fluffing up the soil like the front garden was just a big feather duvet. The Man of the Place suggested that if I dash out there with my spade and scoop up the loose dirt, I would be able to not only see the mole but would be able to bash it on the head. It all sounded a bit violent and I couldn't bring myself to do it.
I know it's squeamish, girly and ever so slightly citified but I couldn't go out there and crush a mole's skull. I can do other murderous things. I can set and empty mouse traps, move spiders out of the tub, butcher, pluck and clean poultry and clear my nose by holding one nostril and blowing hard off to one side but I cannot whack-a-mole. I'm going to have to leave that bit of grizzly countryside life to the professionals. Time to call the Mike the gamekeeper.
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