As a kid growing up on the Saskatchewan
prairies, one of our favourite pastimes was to catch gophers, those
little guys who peeked at us from their holes while we brought home
the cows for their daily milkings. Curiosity was often their
downfall. If all was quiet for a while they could not resist peeking
out from their subterranean cities to see what was happening in the
upper world.
Bailer twine, the old prehistoric
organic kind, made excellent snares. With a lot of patience, which
young boys don't always have handy, you could fashion a slip noose
and lay it carefully inside the gopher's hole, and sit back and wait
for that gopher to show it's tiny peeky eyes. Then with one great
pull you might snag that gopher in the noose, abducting a not so
willing playmate for the day. We tried to domesticate them, but
they didn't seem much inclined to human friendship, and their teeth
are rather salient.
For the less patient variety of human
trouble makers, a bucket of water would often work wonders. The
snare was still used. One urchin would man the snare while his shill
would pour that whole bucket of water down an adjacent hole. This
usually created a soggy response, however the little devils often
came up a hole other than you were wagering on. It seems gophers
don't hedge their bets on minimal options.
In the dirty thirties in my fathers
time, one penny was paid for each gopher tail which amounted to $1M
paid out in Alberta and Saskatchewan. The rest of the gopher made a
delicious stew. In my day we had no incentive to cause them any
harm, and mom would have tossed us out by our ears if we brought a
batch home for supper, so our little buddies usually escaped to be
chased around the field by the dog, till they found a convenient hole
to dive into. We were really kindhearted scoundrels.
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