In case you're bored at work or just bored...
here's a short story I wrote some years ago:
The Hole Story
by Will Zeilinger
Why did I set my alarm clock? It
was Saturday and I was a firm believer that these evil devices have caused of a
lot of heart attacks in this world. Now I was awake and unconsciously fished
around under the bed with my foot until I felt my old flip-flops, now molded to
the shape of each foot from countless other Saturdays. I plodded through the kitchen scooping up my
eyeglasses from the countertop and went out onto the patio, or as my lovely wife
loves to call it, "our lanai.”
As usual I stood and scanned the
backyard though I preferred to call it “surveying the estate.” I checked the
fig, orange, and apple trees, the pomegranate bush and the lawn. Our backyard hadn't seen a drop of rain in
months and I'd always had a problem with turning on the tap and dumping
expensive water onto the ground.
My mind traveled back to my father
standing at the service station filling up the old Rambler. I'd sit in the passenger seat listening to
the gasoline pump go “ding, ding, ding.”
That's what I hear when I water the lawn. As a result, our adobe soil is as hard as the
concrete sidewalk.
This morning something was
different. I noticed something sinister near the base of the fig tree, a small
dark mound of freshly turned earth had appeared. I took a cautious step toward it when a furry
little head with eyes the size of small raisins popped up, wiggled its nose and
just as quickly disappeared.
What the…? A gopher? At least I think it was. I ran to the mound and peered inside. Too late.
It had made good on its escape.
I stood there and eyed this curious
development. Mind you, I've spent
hundreds of dollars on tillers and topsoil, and not ended up with soil as fine
as this critter created.
My first instinct was to flush it
out. I ran for the hose, shoved the pistol-grip
nozzle into the hole and squeezed the handle as a maniacal laugh came from
somewhere deep inside me.
To my surprise, the earth swallowed
the water like a bottomless pit and caused me to wonder if someone's fountain
in Shanghai suddenly came to life.
I went to “Plan B” or the pile of
football-sized stones beside the house.
In a previous life they lined a small pond that once existed on the very
spot of the incursion. I dropped one on
the hole, stomping on it twice for good measure.
Ahh – peace.
The kingdom was safe.
My loving wife praised me and
showered me with kisses, the victorious slayer of unknown creatures.
The next morning, a new mound had
appeared near the hole I had sealed. No
water this time. Another stone-and again
peace. But in my heart I knew it wasn't
over.
Friends yielded no solutions or magical incantations, just a lot of sympathy.
That left “Plan C”, the Internet. Within minutes, I found an authoritative answer from the State
Department of Fish and Game web site. The critter was a Pocket Gopher, Thomomys
bottae, to be exact, and they eat just about anything that grows, especially
plant roots.
Oh my gosh! Our Fig tree, Apple tree, Orange tree and
Pomegranate bush would soon be part of the gopher salad bar.
Deemed non-game animals by the
State of California, I could deal with them in any legal manner of my choosing;
traps, gas, poison or harassment.
Some different ideas were suggested
by well-meaning cybersouls that included: ultrasonic transmitters, Gopher Purge
plant, chewing gum, urine or an eight-inch long device powered by four
batteries which vibrated when inserted into the gopher's tunnel opening. (I
know - that's what it sounded like to me too!) I opted for harassment.
Whenever a new hole was detected I
dug it out. Another hole, more gravel,
more tamping and stomping.
My wife pointed out that this
corner of our yard looked like a diorama on World War I trench warfare
techniques. She was right.
“You're really enjoying this aren't
you?”
After three weeks of battle, I was a seasoned veteran of the
gopher wars.
“Yes, I think I do.”
At this, she pleaded with me to call a professional, but the smell
of battle lingered in my nostrils. And
so, with shovel in hand, I fought on.
In an effort to maintain tranquility on the home front, and
encourage the grass to reappear, I filled all the craters and trenches with
gravel and smoothed the soil as best I could. Afterward, I set out the lawn
sprinkler and watered the area well.
The next morning, I discovered
another hole, but this one was left open.
I trudged through the mud, poured gravel into it and closed it with
dirt. I set out the sprinkler again for
a couple of hours. The soil was now no
longer damp. It was soaked! Another open
hole appeared that afternoon. More
gravel, more dirt, more tamping. It
seemed the critter did not like wet dirt.
Damp was O.K., but wet – not so much. Maybe it was trying to dry out the
tunnel! Thus began a campaign of
saturation watering.
The following morning I again put
the little sprinkler when out of the corner of my eye - movement. Upon closer examination I saw a furry critter
with a short, rat-like tail. The soaking
wet gopher was attempting to dig a new burrow into the hard, dry adobe soil a
few feet away. I ran toward it, slapping
the shovel on the ground. It scurried
under the back fence, which led to... the alley! By the time I got into the alley, it was
gone. Peace had returned to the estate.
“Next time I’ll be ready.”
I stood with arms folded and stared
across the battlefield that was once a corner of my backyard.
My dear wife asked, “Is there going
to be a next time?”
“You never know.”
THE
END
