There it is again, flecks of fresh brown earth flying up from out of my lawn, several new dirt mounds signaling their return, our battle for this turf will now recommence. We have ten acres, why must they pick my garden to make their subterranean homes? I rub them out and more **** gophers replace the departed ones. They tweak my nose and toy with me as if I were the mouse and they the cat. But they are grievously mistaken. If it is war they want, it is war they will get. Let the battle commence.