I love moles. Unfortunately, wherever I've lived, they have been delivered sometimes, by cat or dog with great pride, DOA. They are beautiful. Chubby, fat-footed and blind, they really do a good job of aerating the soil and consume insects, their larva and the occasional delectable root. It is an amazing thing to watch them tunnel. I've loved moles ever since I saw them to that by a grapevine, about 60 years ago. I was standing in the backyard of a man who died while my father and other men were negotiating the sale of his firearms. I stood and watched the tunnel run through their feet over to a grapevine; a marvelous sight.
On this acre, the moles dig their tunnels. Bernie is teaching Jack, the new puppy, the craft of moling. You listen first, then you sniff, and then dig furiously. Furiously. It seems the moles in every case dig toward them, because Bernie's technique is to keep backing up and digging.
No moles that I know of have been dispatched. I'm glad. I don't mind sinking in and I love seeing the mounds that are their breathing holes, which I think is how the cats catch them. But Dottie has no claws, so she spend her time hunting anoles, many of whom are growing tails. Vern is too lazy, and would rather sleep on my van and come in for his Greenie treats.
1 comment:
we have a lot of mole tunnels. I was, mostly when I'm bored, stepping on them to make the ground flat again. Now after reading this , I'm not sure I will continue. New perspective I guess - thanks.
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