Mission: Move That Mole

A little while back, I discussed the mole that had decided to take up residence underneath the lawn. Well, here’s the update for which I know you’ve all been waiting. Before I could blast Yoko Ono or do anything else dramatic, he seemed to have vacated for greener pastures (i.e., other peoples’ lawns). That was until a couple of weeks ago when apparently, he missed me.

One day, the familiar dirt mound was back on the walkway. I didn’t see his cute little face when I looked down the hole but my mother had an encounter with him that would have been hilarious to catch on video, that is, if it didn’t lead to an accident. Let me explain.

On the side patch of lawn separating the house from the neighbors, there’s a palm tree. When the houses were built in this neighborhood back in the early 1950s, all the houses had palm trees. I have no idea why since Daly City’s weather is about as far from tropical as a place can get. Daly City is where the fog settles in like an unwanted houseguest who doesn’t want to leave.

So, as you would expect from a palm tree, there are palm fronds that fall onto the ground. Well, one day my mother was picking up some of these fronds and one in particular was not budging. She was confused until she saw that the other end of the frond was in one of the mole holes. (A bit like the photo on the left.) It seems that she was playing a game of tug of war with the mole.

After a little more forceful tugging, Mom was able to extract the frond without pulling the mole up with it. She came into the house laughing hysterically, saying that it was a good thing that she still did her biceps curls because she would have been embarrassed if she had fallen on her ass, losing a strength contest to a mole. That wouldn’t have been good for her ego or for the newly fused discs in her back.

So, the mole was back and kicking the dirt all around. A friend of my mother’s told her that moles hate onions. Okay. Did you know that? I sure didn’t. How was that knowledge gleaned? Was there some mole focus group? Did pollsters take a break from asking about Herman Cain and instead queried moles on their favorite garnishes? We decided to give it a try.

Mom cut up part of an onion and put it down the hole. The next morning, it was tossed onto the walkway. I figured that either onions gave him heartburn or he wanted the burger, fries and shake to go along with the onion. I can’t fault him for expecting a Happy Meal. Unsure of what condiment to feature on the next mole menu, I finally decided that the time had come to scare the mole with sound. And I wasn’t talking Yoko Ono.

This is the “Molemover”. It’s a battery-operated garden stake that emits the type of alarm and distress calls that rodents make to warn their buddies that danger is approaching and that it’s time to drop the onion rings, put away the playing cards and move to another neighborhood. To my great surprise, it seems to have worked. There are no more unwanted dirt mounds on the walkway. No tug of war and no onions. Now, the only mole I see is of the cartoon variety. So much better.

The Ballad of Mole and Yoko

I have a mole, or family of moles, living under my lawn. Yes, a little guy similar to this one has been busy digging up dirt and piling it on the sidewalk. Gone is the lush, nicely manicured lawn. It has been replaced by patches of dirt. As you may imagine, I’m not happy about this latest development. You see, growing up in San Francisco, we didn’t have a lawn. We had cement. The only greenery was what grew up through the cracks in the cement.

Granted, this lawn is the original one my aunt and uncle put in when they bought the house in 1954, but it’s the principal that matters here. It should be MY choice as to when a new lawn needs to be put in, not some damn mole’s. No matter how cute he is. How do I know he’s cute? Well, I saw him once as I was cursing him and calling him, “That little mole bastard.” I was looking for his little mole holes and aiming the hose nozzle down them when his little head popped up and then back down really quickly. And damn it, he was adorable. So, I put the hose away and went in the house grumbling.

Is it too much to ask that pests be ugly? Rats and cockroaches comply with this rule. A giant Miller moth terrified me in the bathroom the other day. I know he had fangs. I just know it. I like wildlife but I don’t like it in my house, in my yard or under my lawn. Where’s the ideal place for wildlife to be? On my T.V. in a nature documentary.

So, I’m trying to find other ways to make the mole leave. Cursing him, his mother, father and family name hasn’t worked. Getting all Noah’s Ark on his ass and flooding him out hasn’t worked. A neighbor was having the same problem with moles and she bought some device you stick in the lawn that emits sounds underground that drive moles nuts and make them leave. Hmm…I guess that’s why they’ve moved down to my lawn. (Gee. Thanks, neighbor!)

I bought one of these devices but I haven’t put it in yet. I’ve been wondering about what kinds of sounds would drive a mole crazy. I’m envisioning something like the military blaring music at an enemy to weaken their resolve. Didn’t we bombard Manuel Noriega with heavy metal? I imagine prisoners at Gitmo waking up to Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” I mean, that song grates on my nerves and I’m not a suspected terrorist.

Can you imagine if this was the sound that the moles were subjected to, over and over and over again? Yoko Ono sounds like some crazed predator who wants to eat little moles for dinner. Hell, if she could break up the Beatles, she can certainly chase my moles away.