It’s offical! I am a mole catcher of note……….well, I have caught one, a big one and very exciting it was too! The smug satisfaction stuck with me for at least 3 days. It has now worn off despite the fact that the dead mole is ceremoniously hung on the fence by the back gate for all to admire providing a daily reminder of my achievement. There are two problems – the dead mole is starting to smell and it hasn’t to date, been joined by any of it’s friends.
Rather than providing a marker of my mole hunting efficiencies – the said dead mole only serves to fuel suspicion that I have gone stark raving mad.
I have become completely obsessed with my trapping. Armed with my spade, gloves and traps, I am on a one woman mission to restore my view from its current lunar appearance back to uninterrupted meadow. I have approached my task with a significant amount of planning and preparation. The first rule of war, is, I understand, know your enemy. As such I have spent many a long evening researching everything there is to know about these velvety devils. I am alarmed by the breeding cycle and as such have put down the books to focus on manoeuvres. I eagerly follow runs and have spent far too long squashing old mole hills so that I can monitor their recent movements.
Sadly, all of this for just one mole. I shall not be deterred – the war continues.
Meanwhile, there appears to be trouble in the hen house. Having been convinced that out of my 11 surviving birds, only one was a cockerel, suddenly, it looks like I’ve got at least one more. They may just be butch hens but I am sure I heard a stifled cock a doodle do from one of them. This could explain my lack of eggs – still nothing and the weather is so much milder. Clearly, no amount of mild weather is going to encourage the cocks to lay!
I think more hens are called for.
