Lessons Learned From a Gopher Catcher

As a young girl, I discovered Nancy Drew mysteries at the school library, and admired Nancy’s detective skills and feistiness so much that I was determined to match her sleuthing proficiency. My first case, (self-appointed) was to prove that one-armed Fletcher, the blustery, prevaricating town drunk, was swindling my farmer father. Dad hired him to catch gophers at the going rate of a quarter a gopher and Fletch showed up randomly every couple of weeks to do the job. It bothered me that he was getting that much money, as I had to work hard cleaning a big barn and the milking equipment to get a quarter. Gopher catching seemed much easier. Just set the traps, place them in a gopher hole and wait.

Fletcher, an amputee well known in our small farming community, stumbled around town with a cheap pint of whiskey in his back pocket, ranting and telling tales to any passersby. I think most towns probably have a few Fletcher types; at least that’s what I’ve observed over the years. However, in those days in my town, he was an annoying anomaly. He had a dark complexion, hair and eyes, partly dirt and partly coloring. Because of Fletch’s reputation as a liar, when someone was suspected of mendacity, the other party would declare derisively with a thumb tucked in armpit, “Go ahead and tell another one, Fletch!”

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Fletch arrived with his gopher traps. With my best Nancy Drew moves, I followed him to the alfalfa fields, keeping myself hidden from view. Fletch threw down the traps, made himself comfortable under a cottonwood tree and began to swig from his bottle. Shortly, he appeared to be asleep, so I ran back to his old car and looked in the trunk. It was filled with stinky and swollen dead gophers still in traps, probably from an earlier catching job. I did my chores and after a couple of hours, I saw Fletch stumbling to his car with ten empty traps. I quickly hid near his car so that I could watch him undetected. Just as I suspected, he threw the empty traps in the trunk and pulled out the dead gophers. My dad was pitching hay not far away, and when he saw that Fletch was finished for the day, he came over and handed him $2.50. I scurried out from my hiding place as Fletch pulled away, and told my dad that Fletch had ripped him off, describing what I had seen. Nancy Drew would have been proud of me, but my dad was unimpressed. He just said, “Oh, I know he brings those gophers with him, but he needs the money so I just play along.” So much for my sleuthing skills!

One may think that I learned some valuable lessons in understanding, forgiveness and compassion that day. Not a chance! I learned some lessons all right: I’ve never given a dime to a drunken indolent, I have no tolerance for liars, and I detest easy marks. Moreover, I’ve stayed away from PI work as my chosen career.