The Shovel of Doom

I'm sorry.  I can't not tell this story.  It's just too...  It needs to be told.  If nothing else, because I need to confess.

If you're a PETA member, or a mole enthusiast, or if you are squeamish or have a heart condition, you're going to want to stop reading now.


I mean it.


Ok, can't say I didn't warn you.

After Penny let the mole go yesterday I had 24 hours worth of "I shoulda killed the vermin" remorse.  You've got to understand, these little dudes have been wrecking our yard for a couple of years now.  Our lawn doesn't look so great to begin with, with the shade and the dog running around and the lack of give-a-crap, so the mole thing has just added insult to injury.  A couple of years ago, walking around in our front yard felt like walking through a cemetery because of all the tunnels they'd dug.

Foreshadow much, Amy?  Sure, don't mind if I do...

Right.  So I had a lot of time to feel stupid and wimpy about the fact that I hadn't killed Mr. Mole when I had the chance (sort of) by the time Mary Grace came in today and said, "PENNY'S GOT THE MOLE AGAIN!"

I threw on my sandals, because apparently I do not learn quickly from my own mistakes, and ran out through the garage, grabbed the flat shovel and headed into the back yard purposefully.

Penny didn't have the mole in her mouth when she looked up at me, and I was kind of relived for a second.  Then she proudly sauntered over and nudged at it with her nose.  "Look what I did, Mom!  Where's that steak you promised me?"

"Damn, I'm really going to have to do this."  I thought.

Did you know I used to be a vegetarian?  I did it wrong and my hair started falling out.  True story.  And yet, here I was, in my sandals in my back yard about to murder a (somewhat) innocent mammal.

At first it looked like Penny had done the deed for me, but as I got closer I realized that the mole was still breathing.  Granted, the breathing was labored, but it was breathing.

I looked at him for a few seconds as I gathered my courage.  I had left Mary Grace in the house with Jack, and the rest of the neighborhood kids were off somewhere with Claire, so Penny was my only witness.  I was pretty sure she wouldn't be traumatized by what was about to happen.  The mole was lying on its back.  "Sorry," I said, as I put the shovel in the middle of his body and pushed.  Hard.  Until I thought I felt something snap.

"I just killed the mole," I said to BJ on the phone moments later.  He asked if he could call me back in a few minutes but I totally ignored him and babbled out the whole story.  As I recounted the events to BJ (poor, saintly BJ) I scooped the corpse onto the shovel and carried him into the front yard (where the stupid dog wouldn't play frisbee with him anymore, because eeeww).  The motion of the dismount must have startled him out of his swoon, because when I put the shovel down outside of the back fence he started to twitch.

I hung up on BJ and asked Cami, who had appeared out of nowhere to figure out why I was screaming "Eeeew!  Eeeew!  Eeeewwwww!" to go find a box.  "What kind of box?" she asked.  "One that I can put a dead mole in, I'm not picky.  Check the recycling in the garage by the door!"  While she was busy with that and not watching the carnage, I flipped the mole over onto its stomach and pushed straight down with the shovel until I was sure I felt something snap.  "Eeeew!  Eeeeew!"  I cried as Cami brought back a box and threw it in my general direction.  I picked up the mole with the shovel and dumped it in the box.  Then I watched carefully for several minutes to be sure it was really, really dead.

I called Monica, "I just killed the mole and now I have to throw it in the ravine because BJ doesn't want it in the trash and I don't think I can because it is too gross and I've already been very brave by killing it twice and I don't wannaaaaaa!"  She said she'd come deal with it for me.  I told her I'd get the box out of the sun so it wouldn't start to stink while I waited for her.

After I hung up I started to feel very wimpy.  I thought of Ed Stark in Game of Thrones, and how he killed the men he condemned with his own hand and his own sword, because it's the honorable thing to do, and I thought, "If I can kill it I can throw it into the stupid ravine."

But I've seen enough movies to know that if you pick up the box with the dead mole, the zombie mole will come back to life and jump up into your face when you least expect it.  So I used a broom to push the box containing the mole all the way to the empty house (yes, Chelle & Brian, your house) and into the back yard.  I screwed up my courage, and in one smooth, swift motion I picked up the box and hurled the mole into the ravine.

Then I came home and washed my hands 500 times.

The end.