Well, the Gold Bond Medicated Powder season is open, the first event having been the Byron Nelson. I carry a bottle of it in my hip pocket, and last week I made a fortune selling it by the gram to the players and caddies. David Duval doesn’t sweat at all, and I think he’s an alien. His pulse rate at rest is about 38. That’s Tour de France stuff right there.
Robert Damron (Damright) was the main story, of course, but the thing that interested me the most about last week was the varmint problem we had at CBS. At the TPC Four Seasons Resort we have a large nutria population, which does considerable damage to the golf course by nibbling away at the roots of water plants, and burrowing under the banks of the hazards. Last week, however, they were provided with a smorgasbord of fiber optic cable, to which they unfortunately took a liking.
Now rodentia and math are two of the subjects in which I am particularily strong, but for the life of me, I do not understand why an animal that is half rat, one third hamster, three quarters giant gerbil, with more than a smidgeon of beaver thrown in, would find plastic and glass fiber appetizing in the slightest. I tried it myself, and it’s ghastly.
But stranger than this is the method we had to employ to repel the orange-toothed little buggers. Coyote pee. Yes, I said coyote pee, and personally, I thought it actually improved the taste of the cable slightly. Five cases of the stuff we bought, and I have to say, being a born-again Texan, I was a little disappointed they weren’t longnecks. Apparently though, a little predator pee goes a long way in scaring off predator chow. My question is this: who the hell collects the stuff, and how the hell do they do it? I mean, it’s not just coyote we’re talking about here either. You can buy bobcat whizz and bear tinkle as well! Talk about a nasty job. These creatures are pretty grumpy first thing in the morning, I’m sure. I can only imagine how hard it would be to catheterize a bobcat. “Hold still there Fang, this might sting a little.” I have this image of the guy behind the counter at the “Squirtatorium,” covered from head to foot in Band-Aids. The stuff has to be synthetic surely.
The whole nutria problem is of our own making, as usual. They were introduced here from South America years ago by the fur industry, which of course has recently been skinned alive, and a good thing, too. It’s a classic example of if a thing isn’t here in the first place, it’s probably not needed. Although, I have to admit, I kind of fall into that category myself.
I’ve had an idea. I took Willard the Wonder Mutt out for his morning constitutional today, and he pitched a nine-squirter. What a waste, I thought. Here I have a natural born predator, whose sole objective in life is the complete destruction of all squirrel life on earth, and his whizz, which would have any self-respecting nutria quivering like Tim Herron on the follow-through, is being squandered on the hubcaps of my neighbors. Now, I know I have a funnel and a pair of thick gloves somewhere.