Moles face a mountainous problem in my backyard. I trap the wretched creatures. It kills them. The mole-fur market in recession, I toss their entire carcass in the garbage can, assuming they receive a decent burial attended by other vermin at the landfill. The neighboring moles, blessed with more sense than Olympia’s legislative body, have accepted that their procreative and tunneling arts must be indulged in havens other than my yard.
The smart little ground dolphins who are able to read this newspaper (“Not just a miner nuisance,” Jan. 23, front page) must be surprised to find their pursuit of liberty and happiness has become a political ball: compassionate Republicans will slaughter moles only if other destructive predators are included; Democrats will sacrifice moles only if it guarantees soccer fields and lawns will be safe for child’s play.
I expect now the burrowing critters, accompanied by PETA insurgents and Fish and Wildlife Department undercover agents, will be emboldened to again demonstrate for their right to assault my backyard. Some hope to make mole mounds into mountains. Me, I’m sharpening my traps.
Monroe
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