Gopher Gall

I've always operated on a live and let live philosophy in the garden. If pests don't mess with too many of my plants, they live. Sure, this philosophy has been tested and broken on occasion. Who can forget the Slug Fest of '09 or the Earwig War of '10?

Still, for the most part, I plant to share. A little for the bugs, more for me.

That was, until the Gopher.

I saw the little mounds and thought to myself, "This can't be good."

I researched humane treatments and discovered a safe repellent.

The little bastard kicked it to the surface and continued on his quest ever closer to my garden.

First to go were two gorgeous tomatillos I'd planted when they were a mere three inches high and dying of dehydration. They'd grown into gorgeous specimens of greenery with yellow flowers that promised salsa verde shortly.

I came home and stared at my garden sensing all was not right in my little world.

"One, two, three, four...wait. Where's number five?"

By the next morning, I was down to three. The other two had been sucked underground where the gopher feasted on the succulent leaves and tiny tomatillos.

Then the tomatoes.

First my Berkley Tie Dye, a little guy I've planted without success for four years. He was only inches tall and didn't stand a chance.

Then, came my Mortgage Lifter. It was heartier, sturdier than the Berkley. I looked at it as I watered and wondered why its leaves were so wilted when all around it grew healthy plants. I touched my finger to a stem and it fell over, the roots neatly gnawed off and waiting to be pulled beneath the ground. I pulled it and stuck my hose down the tunnel flooding it until it collapsed with a small poof of dust.

Thinking I'd gotten rid of the gopher once and for all, I washed my hands and put him out of my mind.

Until the next day when the kids ran into the house yelling that my Early Girl was stuck in the ground. Confused, I walked outside to discover a former four foot tomato plant half in the ground, the former brilliant orange green fruit rolling to the side.

And, counting, I realized the Box Car Willie was missing too.

(At this point, I'm sure you realize I buy tomatoes based on their names.)

I placed a phone call.

A couple hours later, my friend Steve showed up with traps. He placed them in the tunnels warning the kids not to touch them. And then, I waited.

A day passed without a peep from the Gopher.

Then, the next day, Steve stopped by to check out the traps and pulled up a gopher that was the size of a small cat.

Well, maybe not that big.

One thing was for sure. He'd been feasting on my plants. He was big and fat and deader than a doornail.

I shuddered and cringed and then sent him to his grave.

People who think gardening is boring have no idea the amount of death involved.