Encounter

(This entry needs pictures, perhaps they will come next.)

There were new holes in the garden. A lot of them. Some of my most gorgeous poppies, complementing the blue daisy bush thing, (whatever that is) were weeping and languid.

That little bastard. He's lucky he's so cute.

Of course, I am speaking about my gopher.

I'd gone to the Mexican grocery store, bought the biggest bag of the hottest peppers they had – chile de arbol. “Estos son los mas picantes, verdad?” I ask the clerk stocking produce. (“These are the hottest ones, right?”) He looks at me, first with confusion, then with what appears to be sympathy. “Si,” he says, slowing returning to his gigantic pile of papaya. But you know he's thinking. Ay, gringita, dju can' hannle dee hottest pep-pears.

Look, I'm trying to be humane and eco-friendly here. Plus, let's be honest, Mike once stomped his foot to frighten away a gopher and Isaac, witnessing this horror, cried for an hour. And I read it somewhere. Hot peppers in the gopher holes. I was okay with it. Isaac was okay with it. Mike laughed at me, but come on, it could've worked.

Unfortunately, I think I only succeeded in educating the palate of my little garden guest.

Mike suggested sticking the hose down the holes and turning on the water full blast so as to try collapsing the tunnels and spur a move out. The last time I'd tried this technique, the hose disappeared – no lie – eight and a half feet underground.

I needed a miracle, but instead I went out this morning, tossed my once-beautiful poppies in the compost and shoved the hose down the biggest hole. When lo and behold, out scrambles little mister small, grey and very wet. He ran through the back garden and I followed him with the hose, not having a clue what to do.

I decided I'd try to trap him under a pot and then...I dunno. I couldn't take my eye off him. I needed help. I yelled in the door for Mike then quickly returned to the chase. He'd disappeared, but a spray of the hose over the suspected area produced a little running rodent again. He jumped into the open square of a cinderblock. I ran to the door to scream for Mike again, but no one heard me. I returned just in time to see the bugger dig his way under the deck.

And as I slunk back inside, who was sitting at the door begging to go out – Emily cat. Damn. Why didn't I think of that sooner?