Yesterday we were driving down an urban road when I shrieked--"Mom! A mole!"
Running--if a slow blind waddle can be called "running" --across the road was a mole. I am not sure what scared him from his tunnels, but he was bound to be hit by a car. I think all the rain might have flooded his tunnels.
Mom stopped the car. I jumped out and picked up the wee fellow. He kept trying to bury himself inside of my shirt. We drove to a meadow bordered by forest that is on state property and set him free. Moles can bury themselves so quickly. He disappeared from sight in a hurry, digging away.
I know many people don't like moles, but I suspect they have never held one in their hands. They do not bite, and they have the smoothest, plushest, softest fur imaginable. Plus their paddle-like feet are so cute. They look like living Beanie Babies.
They do not bite or attempt to bite. We do not have many moles on the farm. I suspect our eight cats make sure of that. Still, they would be welcome. We love wildlife.
All day long my little sister Shelby has been pretending to be a mole--a baby mole--that lives in snow. She has named herself Pink Nose (after being quite impressed by his little pink nose...)