We have an office in our house that allows Eva and I to sit and surf the net (do we still say that these days?) simultaneously while hearing the TV randomly increase in volume from the living room. This is sort of a weekend ritual. Me checking up on the blogs I follow, her checking up on Facebook friends and plowing imaginary fields on a cyber farm somewhere in the ether.
Not everything is equal in our office. I have the larger 23 inch computer screen facing one wall (which I'm very comfortable with) and she has the smaller laptop screen, but she faces the window which provides a great view of the lot next to ours, complete with morning deer and a strict accounting of the occasional cars that pass by our house. The surfing is occasionally interrupted by laughter - a funny comment by a Facebook friend which must be shared or a picture of some poor idiot doing something stupid caught and preserved forever on the Internet.
This morning, just as I got up to go refill my coffee, the sound of the blaring TV was interrupted by a loud, steady and firm, "GET YOUR FREAKIN' GUN!". Of course my first reaction, having seen one too many episodes of Bordertown: Laredo, was that some members of the cartel were on our property and it was time to bust out The Judge! In fact, it turned out that she was witnessing a gopher defile our sand before her very eyes.
Note to self: I need to spray some WD-40 on the back door hinges. I think this may have given Mr. Gopher a clue that I was on the way. Never the less, I arrived at the hole surrounded by a large mound and he no longer was popping his head out as freely as he was before. For just a moment, I aimed at the top of the hole and was prepared to wait it out. I mean, it wasn't two weeks ago that our neighbor up the street sat out in a lawn chair with a pellet gun and beer waiting for the perfect shot, so why couldn't I stand patiently for a minute or two?
Okay, I'm just not that patient. I slowly moved into place and could see that there was a tiny flicker of sand coming from within the hole. I shoved the barrel down and fired. For good measure, I pumped the gun several more times and fired again. No movement at all. But I think this gopher is smart enough to avoid the efforts of an impatient homeowner with new grass, so just to be sure, I decided to bring out the big guns. No; not The Judge.
I'll let you know if I was successful or not.