Great Big Gobs

Generally, I'm fond of all things living.  I cringe when I have to kill an earwig, as creepy as they are.  I smile as the young calves frolic in the pasture behind the house, and sigh at the thought of eating them after a year of growth. 

But yesterday, I bought traps.  Vicious two-teethed traps designed to spring into action at the slightest trip.  Indeed, these things will probably rip a small creature in half, or break the leg of a dog- and I'm okay with that, even if that creature is somewhat cute.

Greasy, grimy, gopher. . . guts.

That creature is destroying my garden.  That creature is going to eat the roots of all my beans, tomatoes, and cucumbers; and they've only just begun to set fruit.

So I bought traps, and I learned how to set them.  I will put them in those nasty gopher holes, and I will flush the thing out with water.  Should I choose to come a hole that has no trap, I will be waiting with a shovel.