Holy Moly!

Dear Frank,
Obviously, this topic will be of great interest to you. There’s been a challenging situation that has reared its head, so to speak and I know you’ll have an opinion.

Not to make a mountain out of a molehill, let me just say that both my front and backyard are now fully owned by a somewhat cute-appearing little creature who has busily burrowed a maze of underground and semi-underground passages throughout the property.

After observing this excavation project day after day, one can only imagine the sorts of things going on down there. I mean that literally. Your imagination will have to do. He holds no press conferences.

Something tells me this mole is a suave and debonair guy, having fun pretending to lead his troops while instead playing rounds of golf with abandon and at great expense, making sport out of my turf. One could wonder who’s in charge. Know what I’m saying, Frank?

Let me pause a moment and backtrack. I have to put all of the above in the past tense, admitting right here and now that a big change has occurred. For good.

Who/what brought about the change? Nick, the yardman! It was he who spread mole-repellent granules this past week. Throughout. In both the front and backyard. Covering every inch. He left no square foot untreated. And I do believe it worked! The culprit has high-tailed it to new surroundings. I’m betting this situation has gotten him to thinking.

His thots: “I knew this couldn’t last forever. Folks eventually catch on. Sayonara and arrivederci. chau-chau, au revoir, hasta pronto, luego, buh-bye, parting is such sweet sorrow, and so forth.”

You should have seen how I executed my plan. If this step didn’t work, I’d go to Plan B.

I purposely put on my big old bulbous rubber shoes and began arduously stomping down all the countless raised tunnels that ran to and fro throughout my yard. Arms flung out to keep my balance, grey hair flying, there I was in my embroidered Mexican dress and clown-like shoes, my crocs, marching around. I waved to each car that passed, thinking this would somehow cause me to appear more sane.

My hope: Once the tunnels were obliterated, perhaps he’d catch the hint, give up and surrender. He’d go out proudly, of course, but not without leaving some sputtering and twittering in his wake. During this exercise, I fully expected to see him appear before me, happily and convincingly sporting a red cap emblazoned with I-MAGA (I Make All this Ground Aerated! 

I could see that my stomping technique was ineffective and so, had to resort to something more forceful. It was not my intent to be cruel or unkind but more to simply help this puffed-up little creature find his way to exit. It’s a right and good thing when we can assist the clueless in getting out, saving face before their whole world caves in on them.

I have a feeling, Frank, that you, as a frog, (and therefore an outdoorsman) may think he was accomplishing great things, perhaps even to my benefit. Maybe he was even meant to be there, was placed there, in some convoluted way, to be the catalyst for major change. That’s such a far, far stretch, Frank.

After making my assessment of the full picture, seeing the paths he’s taken, how he has dug himself into so many black holes in countless embarrassing ways, making a crazy maze out of everything he touched, I knew that things could really get worse fast. I knew it was time for him to make his way off my property and outta my life.

Side note: There are 5 dictionary definitions for “mole” and this creature seems to fit not just one of those, but ALL of them. Take a look.

Mole /ˈmōl, noun\ ˈmōl  \

Definition of mole
1: any of numerous burrowing insectivores (especially family Talpidae) with tiny eyes, concealed ears, and soft fur
2: one who works in the dark
3: a machine for tunneling
4: a spy (such as a double agent) who establishes a cover long before beginning espionage
5: (pronounced “moe-lay”) – a spicy sauce made with chiles and usually chocolate and served with meat

As for definition #4, I do believe he thought he could be subtle enough to go unnoticed in his quest to infiltrate my life, even inviting his comrades to do the same. Sneaky little goober.

As for #5, because the name “mole” seemed rather drab and unfriendly, I changed the pronunciation a smidge, calling him “Molé” instead, as in Guacamole. Couldn’t believe Miriam Webster somehow knew this and included it in the line up of definitions. Thanks, Miss Miriam. Molé is honored.

I used more than $100 worth of repellent granules to invite Molé to move on and he has done just that. After quite a lengthy residency, I do believe he has vacated the property completely.

It was time for him to depart. With what’s been happening these days, that seemed only appropriate. Now, it’s time to plant some more flowers! Off I go.

Jane