I shot another gopher tonight. I shot it with our very old bolt-action .22. Two years ago I shot one in this same fashion, and not long after that I stabbed one to death in the closest thing to hand-to-hand combat I have experienced.
Tonight I was mowing the north pasture on the big John Deere when I saw this pest up out of its hole, scattering dirt. It’s rare that I get the chance to destroy these destructive pests, so I scampered into the house and grabbed the old .22 and about five shells. I snuck up behind the mower that I had parked not far from its hole and shot it through the neck. It died instantly. Despite the fact that they tear up the yard, ruin the garden and kill trees, I have no desire to see them suffer. After I killed it, I apologized for having to do so.
“Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”