Mornings around here are usually quiet. Coffee, breakfast, hollering at the kids to ‘rise and shine.’ The First Reader usually takes the time to actually cook eggs and toast, and this morning took it into his head to make both of us bacon, too. So I was puttering around the kitchen and dining room finding lunchboxes and stuff when I realize something. I look down at the dog, who is, as always, in the middle of everything, and ask her what she’s got. She looks up at me and I tell her to move her disgusting toy. It’s been raining here in Ohio, being on the cusp of spring, and everything the dog has is muddy.
‘Did you leave the dog outside when you went to look at houses yesterday with the Little Man?” The First Reader hands me my plate. “I seasoned your egg.”
“I don’t think so. She wanted to bark at the propane delivery guy. But Little Man may have let her out when I wasn’t looking.”
“Well, she was out when I got home and had been digging a hole, probably because she was bored.” He handed her a scrap of his toast and she wolfed it down, then turned to me.
“She was probably mole-hunting.” I fed her my toast crust. She won’t eat a whole piece of bread. If you give her one, she’ll head for the door and whine until you let her out so she can bury it. Once, a few years back, she’d been given a whole dinner roll, hadn’t been let out, and I found it buried a considerable time later in the overstuffed recliner cushions. Dogs!
After breakfast, I called to the kids, who refuse to eat in the morning so we don’t even bother any more. “Rise and Shine!” The Ginja Ninja emits a faint moan, then… “nooo….” very quietly. The Little Man said just loud enough for me to hear: ‘if I must.’
Chuckling, I walk back into my own bedroom where the First Reader is finishing up and getting ready to leave. “Ew, beast, must you?” I step over the well-chewed and muddy plushy toy she’s now deposited on the bedroom carpet.
The First Reader says, “that’s a really beat up stuffed mole.”
I look closer. ‘Papertowels.’ I tell him and head to get them before he can move. ‘It’s not stuffed!’ I tell him over my shoulder.
Sometime later, slightly damp from the rain and with freshly scrubbed hands, I sip at my coffee and pat her head. She wags hard and goes to get her spiky football. “I’m going to have to wash my hands again, aren’t I?”
As I told the First Reader, I’m just glad she didn’t eviscerate it on the carpet. The carcase was almost entirely intact, infull rigor, and had most likely been in the house since yesterday evening. Moles: 0, Dog: 1
15 thoughts on “The Death of a Mole”
I need your dog. The moles here are making entire condo-complexes in the yard.
I was surprised she’d actually caught one! We’ve had molehills in the yard since we moved in, and this is the first one she’d gotten. At least, that I know of.
We have an entire mole metropolis in our yard now. Traps and poisons do not work. Our rotten little cat used to get them regularly, but I guess he’s bored with them now. I can look in my formerly lush front yard and see at least 30 mole hills a few of which were added this winter.
Still occasionally brings one in and lays it on the front porch, but not enough any more.
Well, she could have brought a possum inside. One that was playing dead. 😉
Gah! hopefully she doesnt’ come up with that idea. She’s rarely left in the yard long enough to get bored, and walks happen on-lead, so hopefully that will never happen. Also, she’s getting old and fat, which will keep her from catching much – the mole surprised me!
I hear you. 😉
On the other hand, I had the fun of seeing my Beagle Lilly nosing a possum in our back yard.
Thinking to throw it into the trash, I picked it up with a snow shovel only to have the possum staring at me.
I threw it over a fence instead of putting it into the trash barrel. 😈
That must have been quite the startle. Quick thinking!
Once I was taking out the trash and a possum snarled at me from the trash can.
Happily, since we acquired a terrier the possums and raccoons seem to have decamped.
We haven’t seen any close to the house here.
Part of the “fun” is that the trash barrel was inside the garage. IE the only way a possum could get into it is if I put one into it. 😈
I have heard that moles don’t taste good, which is why cats — and dogs — don’t actually eat them. However, I must admit that I’ve never experimented, so I don’t know from personal experience that this is true!
I made the same comment this morning. I have no idea if they taste bad, but I’m really glad she hadn’t tried to eat it.
“That’s odd” he murmured, and then turned to his wife and said, “Cedar’s post is titled The Death of a Mole, and Avogadro’s number isn’t mentioned at all.”
Dealing with the deceased mole is far easier than dealing with the aftermath of a dog versus skunk encounter!
Ah, you would have ‘loved’ my GSD, he cleaned out an entire colony. 15+moles, all deposited in front of the sliding glass door, or in my lap. Sigh…
Good Dog! Although the ‘in lap’ deposition would be a bad habit I’d have to break right off! Eugh!
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