World's Worst Gardener
Summer in our house is a bit of a trial -- once things get warm, we tend to leave the windows open a lot. We have awning-style windows all over the house -- hinged at the top, and closing with a latch against the frame at the bottom. Perhaps there were screens for this type of window made when the windows were new, 60-odd years ago -- maybe there still are -- but if any came with our house originally, they were long gone by the time we bought it. So, there are annoyances. Flies and mosquitoes do vex us. But perhaps worst pest is the cat. With the windows open the house becomes fully permeable to cats; they move in and out at will. And one in particular is a darkling beast, red in tooth and claw. Which I don't mind in principle -- controlling the rodent population is a good thing -- but I am a bit more squeamish about getting a personal introduction to the quarry. Particularly when it is either a) several weeks dead or b) on my window sill, still alive.
Just this evening there was a rustling under the blinds next to my computer. Hal took a peek and suggested it might be time to close the window. I'm not sure what good he thought that would do, since when I looked it was clear that our own personal doom beast, Tinka, and her 'kill' du jour -- a live mole -- were already inside on the window sill. Tinka just sat quietly, waiting for us to admire her skill and beneficence. The mole waved one of it's digger-clawed forepaws vaguely. At first it wasn't clear to me if the poor creature was near death or just stunned, but it seemed increasingly to be reviving. Sfter some initial disorganized flapping and milling about I put on my gardening gloves and took the squirmy thing back outside, and set it down. In my vegetable bed by the front steps. The bed is admittedly mostly fallow just now. But any woman who puts a live mole in her own vegetable garden and watches it dig itself in has got to be in the running for World's Worst Gardener.
On the other hand, it looks like the mole may live. And I'm here to tell you they're surprisingly powerful little guys. I could really feel some serious muscle torque behind the squirming in my hand as I carried it out. I guess it's not that surprising once I consider it though -- takes a lot to move earth out of the way that fast, even if it was mostly mulch.
Just this evening there was a rustling under the blinds next to my computer. Hal took a peek and suggested it might be time to close the window. I'm not sure what good he thought that would do, since when I looked it was clear that our own personal doom beast, Tinka, and her 'kill' du jour -- a live mole -- were already inside on the window sill. Tinka just sat quietly, waiting for us to admire her skill and beneficence. The mole waved one of it's digger-clawed forepaws vaguely. At first it wasn't clear to me if the poor creature was near death or just stunned, but it seemed increasingly to be reviving. Sfter some initial disorganized flapping and milling about I put on my gardening gloves and took the squirmy thing back outside, and set it down. In my vegetable bed by the front steps. The bed is admittedly mostly fallow just now. But any woman who puts a live mole in her own vegetable garden and watches it dig itself in has got to be in the running for World's Worst Gardener.
On the other hand, it looks like the mole may live. And I'm here to tell you they're surprisingly powerful little guys. I could really feel some serious muscle torque behind the squirming in my hand as I carried it out. I guess it's not that surprising once I consider it though -- takes a lot to move earth out of the way that fast, even if it was mostly mulch.