We’re losing the war with the gophers. In fact, I’m not sure that we’re even fighting anymore. I can’t even remember the last time I saw the “gopher guy.”
The gardeners were here last Thursday and smoothed and filled everything back in. Five days later there are eight large holes.
I won’t use poison because of the likelihood hat it will in turn kill hawks, owls, or other raptors that could feed on the dead gophers. So if the landlord’s “gopher guy” doesn’t come back and do a better job than he has in the past, I think the only option is getting a sleeping bag and a pitch fork and camping out on the front lawn. When I hear the next hole being dug near me, I can jump up and impale the little monster with the pitch fork!
We may all safely assume that particular plan will be put into effect right after Hell freezes over.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 