Sparkle
5 Jun
I am determined that a pesky little critter the size of a penis will not get the best of me.
Yes, I refer to the gopher – that infuriating, beady-eyed rodent.
My heart stopped when I spotted that first heinous dirt mound near my prize-winning Kehr Hybrid azalea bushes in
my meticulously manicured front yard. My busybody neighbor informed me the peculiar mound is due to a gopher.
“They can really destroy a lawn. Ha, Ha, Ha…” he needled me.
The stress and irritation of this creature invasion has catapulted me into a crisis:
Blood pressure higher than a kytoon, sleep tortured by ghosts of gophers past, present, and future, dirt-filled
fingernails gnawed to the bone, digestion disrupted, mental faculties in disarray, martini consumption and
general crankiness escalating off the charts.
I repeat. I am determined that a pesky little critter the size of a penis will not get the best of me.
Being a thinking person at least occasionally, I pursue sound, logical approaches to the problem:
- Trapping with artisan cheese
- Flooding by garden hose
- Water boarding
- Smoke bombs
- Elaborate fencing
- Sonar repeller rods (a regrettable purchase from the captivating but essentially useless Sky Mall Catalog)
- Death by dog (sicking our aging beagle Flopsie on the vile little bugger)
- 100% Organic, gold-lined chemicals designed to euthanize the prickly pest (special precautions taken so I don’t kill my beloved cat… even though he treats me with all the respect offered a convicted sex offender)
- Blasting mezzo-soprano Whitney Houston classics into the tunnel. Perhaps the piercing high notes will call him to Jesus?
- Creative visualization – I imagine the gopher as road kill on my local interstate.
Nothing works. I resort to sniveling, cajoling, begging, and sobbing. However, this hurts me with the kids as they sense incompetence and despair faster than they can hit the local “all-you-can-eat buffet.”
After five weeks of soul numbing failure to exterminate the furry little Fuhrer, I succumb to a pitcher of Orange Blossom (heavy on the sweet Vermouth) for divine inspiration. Voila. I am struck with an answer so counter-intuitive yet brilliantly simple I want to scream.
Go with a Zen approach. Just “go for it.” Ohm. Peace envelops my entire being. Ohm. Ohm.
I accept you, oh measly gopher. Ohm.
Ohm. Ohm.
I am now “one” with my fuzzy friend. Amen.
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Your fuzzy friend? Pesky little penis?
Oh girl. Now you’re singin my song!
If only my husband would Ohm his way into accepting the midnight caller that (who?) keeps flipping his newly laid sod. Instead, he’s being driven mad.
The furry little Fuhrer? Love it!
I think the artisan cheese is the classiest way to go.
We had them at our previous home. The yard was riddled with holes. Very annoying but when we built a pool they had to vacate! I don’t think they like chewing on re-bar.
Thanks Bev. I’m so glad we found each other on shewrites.com! I just checked out your blog “Black Ink Paperie” – it’s intriguing. I am following it now.