Life Lessons

Life Lesson 412: Prarie Dogs are Invincible

My newly sodded yard was beginning to take hold. The creases from the adjoining pieces of sod were barely visible. Then, one morning, I noticed a spot in the backyard that looked a little odd. It was a small mound of dirt. Not thinking much of it, I simply filled the hole with the surrounding dirt. The next day the hole was back and the small mound of dirt had become a mountain of dirt. The little bastard had been busy. Having never dealt with a problem like this, I simply referred to the tactics Carl Spackler (Bill Murray) used in the classic movie “Caddyshack”. Carl was dealing with a gopher, while I was about to battle a Prairie Dog. Not exactly the same, but still in the same order, Rodentia. The timing could not be more perfect, for the prairie dog, that is. There was a huge stink being caused, not by deservingly dead rodents, rather a conservation group to protect these little a**holes. Because of this I tried the humane approach. First I peed in the hole and covered it back up. Didn’t work. Next I ran a garden hose down the hole and tried to drown him, only to hear water gushing in the small patch of grass in the alley. Didn’t work. Smoke bombs. Nope. My next tactic was to contact the environmentalist group and have them come and conserve this creature’s life. The conversation went like this:
Me: So what do I do?
Tree Hugger: Catch it.
Me: How?
Tree Hugger: You can get a trap at the local hardware store.
Me: Why don’t you guys come get it out of my yard?
Tree Hugger: We can’t because of monkey-pox.
Me: Monkey-pox? It’s not a primate, it’s a rodent. You are the ones creating an uproar about theses things. You can complain but can’t provide a solution?
Tree Hugger: Sir, not to criticize, but you had your home built on top of the Prairie Dog’s home.
Me: Well if the Prairie Dog had the necessary skills to build, sell and/or finance the house, I would have gladly done business with the Prairie Dog, but it’s not that advanced. Why? Because it’s a rodent. It can’t reason. It digs, eats and sh**s. That’s it. I’m done here, you leave me no other choice but to use lethal force and its blood is on your hands.

At this point the lady I was visiting with simply hangs up, because like the animal she is trying to protect, she could not reason with the ravings of a crazy homeowner.
So I proceed. On her advice I make a trip to the hardware store. There are many different traps that can be purchased. Some humane and some barbaric. Since, I am neither I go with the cheapest and get poison peanuts. I pour a bag a poison down the hole, fill it up and feel glad that I will soon have my yard back.
Apparently, poison peanuts are to Prairie Dogs what anabolic steroids are to Californian governors. A few days later the hole is twice as large and I actually see the bastard. And he’s f**king huge! In both horror and rage I go to get my rifle. Who cares if I am in the city limits and that I am holding my newly born niece, this animal must die. Locating the gun and ammo, while holding a six month old, is more time consuming than it seems and I miss out on the opportunity to shoot this vermin.
Finally, I pour a mixture of poison peanuts, urine and gasoline down the hole. And to my surprise, no more holes. Yes I win. I beat you.

A few weeks later, I noticed a spot in the FRONTYARD that looked a little odd…