This hole is in my front yard. The round thing next to it is one of those giant jawbreakers - about the size of a golf ball. For the past week, Son 2 has been dropping this ball onto the hole every day and then finding the ball next to the hole (like in this picture) the next morning. The hole is just a smidge smaller, so the ball sits on top, with just a bit of it IN the hole.
Notice how dry the ground is and the sparse grass - thank you, City of Austin water restrictions. (More on that in another post) My point is, the ground here is HARD. The hole is creepily small, yet big... so whatever lives in it must be exceptionally strong (proportionately speaking) to have made the hole, maintained the hole, and roll away the ball every 24 hours.
With the crazed speculation that only a ten-year-old boy's mind can embrace, he asks me, "Mom, what do suppose lives in there that is strong enough to push this ball off and get out every night?" And with all the crazed paranoia that only a girl from the midwest can contain, I reply, "I don't know, but stay the hell away from it."
So yesterday Son 2 and I decide that we needed to add another obstacle to this creature's exit. With my foot, I pushed the ball INTO the hole. My intention was to block the hole and (hopefully) encourage it to burrow out the other direction - namely, the creek and woods adjacent to my house. To my horror, the ball dropped in and rolled to the side, mostly out of my view. This has now changed from just a hole to an evil underground lair. I imagined myself standing over the creature's diabolical gimp closet, where he holds prisoners for torture and potential meals. I backed up (because I am SO not turning my back on this thing) to get my feet on the pavement. And then I left for work, where my interaction with creatures is minimal.
Like something from a horror movie, when the main character keeps finding his/her stuff rearranged by some ghost overnight, the ball somehow found its way OUT of the hole this morning. As I passed it, I did a quick Sign of the Cross. If Steve Irwin were still alive, I'd give him a call.