Francis & Nathan

The grounds of Chateau Simmons have a problem...

The garden is being disfigured. A mole is running rampant underground and as a result the surface of the lawn resembles a cross between the surface of the moon and the Himalayas with molehills appearing by the minute.

This morning is a *glorious* Spring morning in deepest rural Norfolk and the cats couldn't wait to get out into the sunshine. As I let them out, I said to Francis, "Go earn you keep, my boy, and fetch me that mole. Dead or alive, there's a reward - cat crunchies - all you can eat!" Francis zoomed off in best bounty hunter mode.

Half an hour later I'm out in the garden watering the potted plants and I spotted Francis taking an intense interest in a clump of grass on the bank of the stream. I wandered over and said, "What's that Francis, got the mole?" Next thing I know Francis pounces into the undergrowth, lots of squeaking goes on and Francis emerges into the sunlight, jaws wrapped around........ a vole, a water vole.

"No!" I shouted. "Leave that alone! Wrong animal! Water voles are *nice! I said *MOLE* not *VOLE*!"

Francis ignored me and looked very pleased with himself.

"Give the nice vole to Mummy, Francis."

Francis looked on in disgust and ran off under the conifers, still clasping the water vole in his jaws. I then did my eclipse-forming manoeuvre by bending over (thus obliterating the sun from view), and crawled under after him. I managed to scruff Francis and he dropped the vole into my free hand. Sadly, at this point the vole gasped its last breath and expired.

I then gave the vole a sort of Viking send-off by returning him to the stream. He floated off to be eaten by the first pike that sees him float by. As I did this, Francis was sat by me on the bank of the stream and I swear his face said, "What a waste of good food." I then returned indoors to get on with some work at the computer. Five minutes later I hear Nathan say, "Mummy! Francis has another one!" So I go out and there on my kitchen floor is the very same vole whose funeral rite (Viking style) had been uttered only a few minutes before.

Seems Francis was intent on performing his task of the day. Pity his hearing isn't what it should be. Meanwhile underground, a mole chortles and gets on with his task of reducing my lawn to an accurate copy of the surface of the moon.

Copyright © Helen Simmons
April 7, 2000