During the late twenties and early thirties, the stony and sandy soil in the Tolstoi, Manitoba area was made even less productive by infestations of gophers. Because gopher populations were phenomenally high, the Municipality of Franklin offered five cents per gopher tail. I was eight. My brother Walter, five years older, was an entrepreneur. He convinced me to start our first million by getting rid of the pesky gophers, especially in the field where we played baseball and duck-on-the-rock. The latter was played with an empty tin can and stones. The latter were more than plentiful.

And so it came to pass that we made slingshots out of crotches of willow tree branches and the elastic from Mom's discarded thread-bare bloomers. Armed with this ammo, a gunny sack, and a pail of water, we'd go gopher hunting. We'd lie down not far from the gopher hole. Then we'd aim the slingshot at the hole and with bated breath wait for a gopher to pop up. When a gopher stood up on his hind legs to survey the area, we'd release the 'trigger' (stone, to you). Bingo! The gopher would do a brisk tattoo and drop to the ground. We'd manage to "gunny sack" the bugger and drown him in the pail of water.

However, this tactic had its drawbacks. It took too long to wait for the gopher to pop up. One had to be stone-still or he'd pop back just as fast, even faster, into his hole. Using this method, Walter only succeeded in one out of five attempts if luck were with him. I managed only one in all our hunting experiences. Then I shouted with such exuberant yowls of elation that the rest of the gopher population was scared into a No-Show for three days.

The second method of catching gophers was snaring. No water was required. We made lassoes out of pliable wire (used in those days for making paper flowers). We set these over a gopher hole. Lying prone, we'd have to raise our heads and hold them indefinitely and noiselessly. This caused two-day suffering from tennis elbow and cricks in our necks. What sacrifice! We had many long waits before a gopher's head would appear and we could try, at the exact second, to jerk the lasso tightly and fatally around its neck. Sometimes, unfortunately for the gopher, the snare would catch it. Then one of us would dangle it while the other would cut off its tail. A mega feat! Fear, fun and excitement reigned as it took several tries to snip the tail off the viciously fighting-for-his-life "vermin". An inhuman act comparable only to that of the baby-seal killing. Then, the gopher would be released alive. Needless to say, the Green Peace Activists would have had a field day over this. (Note: This violence to the nth degree was not instigated by TV programs. No TV's then.) One can always find some good in evil: the crows and other scavengers feasted on the strewn gopher carcases.

On one occasion Walter snared a tail-less gopher. This prompted a few choice words from him that would entitle Father Flanagan to give him at least ten Hail Mary's for a penance. I didn't like this method because my reflexes were slow and Walter caught most of the gophers. He kept every nickel, except every second day when I carried the pail of water and he'd give me two cents. Yea! Yea! Yea! In fact, I wasn't in favour of either of these hunting methods, mainly because there was no equal share of the wealth.

There was also a third method. I take credit for inventing it. It was my turn to carry the death pail of water. As I set it down, a dip in the earth made me stumble and the pail toppled over. All the water poured into the gopher hole. Voilà! Within seconds, three gophers popped out of the exit hole and scurried with lightning speed into a neighboring hole. Ingenious discovery! Water ousts gophers.

This now became a team sport. Claiming an equal share of the wealth,I got two and a half cents per tail. Whoopee! Whoop dee-do! Walter and I carried our galvanized iron portable bathtub to the gopher field. We made six trips with four pails of water per trip to fill it. Walter's charitable heart did not penalize me for carrying pails only three-quarters full. On an afternoon, we'd average three tails. One Sunday, from 1 p.m. to 5:30 p.m., we hit a bonanza: seven tails! (At two and a half cents...I leave the arithmetic to you.) Wow.

Mom's birthday was July 19th. She had admired a 69-cent vase in the local store, but in the early dirty thirties, she could never spare the money for frivolous items. As it was, she had to stretch the paper dollars to pay for necessary groceries. At dusk on July 18th, I had only thirteen tails. Darn! I was sent to the village a mile away to get our mail. I put the thirteen tails (unlucky number) into a nickel paper bag. All the way I worried about the lack of one tail. Maybe a fairy godmother would put one in the bag, but I couldn't depend on her. I pulled my thinking cap snugly over my ears and thought so hard, I was getting menopause-like flushes. After walking almost three-quarters of a mile I got a flash instead of a flush: "Cut the longest tail in two." No sooner thought than done. For the last quarter mile I kept worrying that the storekeeper would detect my crime. Not only would I be short a tail, but I would also be punished.

I stopped momentarily at the General Store. I took a deep breath though my nose and slowly exhaled through my mouth. "Whatever will be, will be..." I entered and thrust the nickel bag on the counter. The storekeeper opened the bag, asking, "What have we here?" He poured the contents on the counter. He started counting, dropping each tail back into the bag. Slowly, in a monotonous voice, he stretched each number, with emphasis on the last letter as if it were two syllables. "One (wo...n), two (to...w), three (thr...eee)." I watched with trepidation. "Three and a half (ha...ff)." A pause. He held up the half tail. I died a thousand deaths as I held my breath to the purple-face degree. He grinned like a Cheshire cat and commented, "Baby gopher? Five (fi...ve)." He skipped a number. My heart skipped a beat. "Six (si...x)) and seven...another baby gopher. They must be twins." I certainly didn't appreciate the humor as I perspired bullets. He continued in this vein. "That's Mmm ... fourteen tails. That's 70 cents. Right?"

"Right," I echoed weakly. Another deep breath and, with a bit more courage, I added, "I'd like to buy that vase (pointing to it) for my mom. It's her birthday tomorrow."

"Good girl! So thoughtful! A reflection on a wise parent." As he reached to get the vase, he added. "Hey! You're in luck. This vase is on sale; it's only 59 cents!" And no GST or PST. What a wonderful man! I could have hugged and kissed him. He knew kids; he had six of his own. What joy! What ecstasy! Comparable only to that of winning a 649 lottery.

Eagerly and promptly I began listing all the goodies: "2 gum drops, 2 pieces of turkish delight, 2 chocolate drops, 5 peanuts (for a penny), 1 kiss candy, 2 lemon candies, 2 Christmas candies, and 1 red balloon", enough for me and treats for the rest of my family. I splurged. I spent a whole dime. Last of the great spenders!

The experience taught me these values:

• not to stretch the truth
• not to worry until after the fact, and I may not need to worry at all
• I can be rewarded for the good I do
• commend and reward do-gooders
• "13" is not an unlucky number.

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