Now, I have no beef with moles. They eat grubs, they don’t eat plants, and the minor annoyance of having to stamp down my walkway pavers which have been heaved up by tunneling is, honestly, pretty minor.
But.
Where there is a mole tunnel, there is often an opportunistic vole coming in to chow down on plants. And more importantly, it drives Hound bonkers and she will dig for them, causing untold havoc. We lost one mole and two hostas to this last winter.
Still, I’m really kinda thrilled the dirt is loose enough now for a mole to come along. I started on grim Carolina clay, the kind they make literal bricks out of, so this is a nice mild nuisance to have.
At the moment I’m just gonna keep an eye on things and grumble as I re-level the occasional paver.
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Many moons ago, the first job I worked out of college was at Prudential Insurance, reading claim forms for a class action lawsuit. There were literally hundreds of thousands of twenty-page handwritten answers scanned into the computers.
How did the insurance agent defraud you? What exactly did he say? How do you feel about it?
We would then grade them from 0-3 based on how defrauded they were and Prudential would give them a paid-up insurance policy.
It was there that I learned firsthand that corporate America is completely batshit. For example, Prudential (Pru) needed to show the auditors they were getting cases out the door, so they required everyone to complete 18 cases a week.
Among the many projects I will never get to is one titled “Loris in Wonderland.”
“Mary Anne!” the White Rabbit shouted, flecks of spittle flying from behind his enormous teeth. “Mary Anne, where are my gloves and my fan?!”
The loris’s name was not Mary Anne.
The cake read EAT ME and the bottle read DRINK ME, but lorises are functionally illiterate (except for one particularly insufferable cousin who had been to Oxford and would not stop talking about it) so the loris ignored both.
Long, long ago, when we were in negotiations for the...fourth Dragonbreath book? Maybe?...things were not going so well. For reasons that likely had nothing to do with us, things had stalled, and the person who made decisions was not answering my agent’s calls.
The books were selling well, but the price point for printing had gone up kinda sharply owing to the big paper shortage around then, and the Big Cheese had only authorized an offer that paid LESS than the first three.
My beloved @ksonney and Becky, who left the pen to avoid the attentions of the young rooster Spare (only to promptly be sexed up by Ninja.) Among chickens, the big fluffy girls are absolutely the hottest, and Becky gets tired of the attention.
Spare isn’t a bad rooster as these things go—he’s pushy, but not violent, which means he’ll probably grow into a more polite adult, like Ninja. (We eat any roosters who get violent with the ladies.)
Still, it’s gotta be exhausting to have a dude cutting a wing at you Every Damn Time you step out of the coop. He’s gonna go off to Dogskull soon, though.