I have to win this war. It’s gone on too long, and I’m outnumbered and confused.
My freshly sodded yard is the battlefield. I am an old, weary soldier armed with chemical weaponry. The enemies are voles, moles and pocket gophers. I’ve studied the films done by scientists showing me the unique differences of each of these three adversaries. Like I care? It’s not my goal to identify who is putting which ugly mound of dirt in my green grass. I want them gone. All of them. Forever.
This battle has been waged for months. I’m armed with this smelly stuff that comes in a yellow nose-coned container. I’m to find the tunnels where these varmints hang out and drop poisonous pellets in strategic places. The more I pour in the tunnels, the more moles, voles or gophers show up. It’s like they’re having a party.
Then it dawned on me. The manufacturer of this product doesn’t put poisonous pellets in their nose-coned containers – they put something like Fritos for moles. They don’t want me to kill my enemy. They just want me to purchase more nose-coned containers.
I need to get more down and dirty.
I just purchased a mallet.