Crossing the Line

 A couple of weeks ago I was looking out from the bathroom window* and noticed a small heap of freshly dug earth at the edge of the lawn. 

In an instant each and every nerve fibre was on full alert ... it was clearly an initial foray by every green keeper's nemesis; a mole!

Now we have moles up in the orchard and I am quite happy for them to live their little subterranean lives, munching on worms and creating heaps of soft, brown earth.  However there is a line that shall not be crossed and that line surrounds each and every one of the lawns.

"Do your moley shit in the orchard and all is fine. Any foray on to the lawns is an open declaration of war!"

Over the following days a few more molehills appeared and a mole trap was purchased.  Now for a little tangent. Years ago my father informed me that moles have a very keen sense of smell and one should always handle mole traps with hands that have been rubbed with earth to mask our scent. Taking heed of this I ensured that the new mole trap was rubbed with damp soil and buried for a day or so, before I set it in the mole's run.

The approach I used was to dig carefully down with a hand trowel and locate the run about 5" below the surface.  I place a few chopped worms in the run as bait and carefully set the trap in place.  A bucket was upturned over the trap to keep every thing nice and dark and all needed to do now was to go about my business.

Should the mole be piggybacking on my wifi and reading the Journal, I have this message for it ... I WILL END YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCKER!

The rest of the day involved some gentle gardening, an invitation from the coven to attend an Indian cuisine demonstration and an evening fishing at Fladbury with Bubbles.**

---

* The WC in the bathroom is affectionately known as The Best Seat in the House.  We have no neighbours, so we have no need of opaque glass and therefore enjoy unobscured views across open fields when sat upon the loo.

** We had several good bites, but none were caught.