Having ten children I have learned that there genetics plays a role in the fascination one can have with animals. Some of the children definitely inherited my 'animal' gene as I called it. Although none of the children had a dislike for animals, some were more animal crazy than others. When I think back to my childhood I must of seemed animal crazy to my mother.
Growing up in Saskatchewan in the 1960's I thought I led a great life, not appreciating the struggle my parents were having making a living from the livestock and grain harvest of farming. As little grain-eating rodents, Gophers were considered competition for grain. Even the provincial government provided incentives to kill gophers. My mom used to pay 5 cents a gopher tail and my brother made sure to capitalize on it. He was ten years of age and I was six years when I first started following him on his line of gopher traps. The metal leg-hold traps fascinated me and I had to pick one up to examine it.
Sound carried far on the flat Saskatchewan prairies and I watched as my father leaped fences and came running from the fields when he heard my screams. Today my left little finger still shows the circular scar where the trap closed on it over 40 years ago.
As I grew up and by twelve years of age it was expected that I too would carry on the gopher trapping tradition. I couldn't do it so I decided to try a new approach and I saved up my money and bought a live humane box trap. It seemd like the perfect solution. I was already learning to drive our grain truck and knew of a farm about a mile away that was abandoned and had all sorts of gophers. With only one trap it seemed like it would take forever but it felt right to use peanut butter to bait, trap the gophers and then release them - no one was getting hurt in the process.
Seat belts weren't used then and I had to sit far in front of the seat to reach the petals and be able to steer. As spring proceeded to summer the gopher trapping was going well and I released one after another and was heading home one bright sunny day. The gravel road had dried up into a natural rumble strip and as the truck vibrated over the bumps I was bounced up off the seat and lost not only the brake petal but my grip on the steering wheel as well. The grain truck slipped into the ditch and my attempt to get it out didn't work.
I walked home with my head down, embarrassed at what I had done. I half expected to be told that I would have to start using the leg-hold traps but I think my parents accepted it wasn't going to happen. "No more driving the truck to release gophers" I was told and I took that to mean my trapping days were over. Instead I of trapping I watched the families of gophers running in the fields. The ground work for my fondness for animals and reverence for preventing animal suffering was made.
