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.
I am now “one” with my fuzzy friend. Amen.
- I Feel Your Pain by Barb Best is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License