Yes, my garden is under attack from a groundhog again. So far the cabbages I planted for my fall garden have suffered about 20 percent casualties. It’s so frustrating. Until you’ve spent the hours that I have planting and tending my cabbage crop you cannot appreciate the anger I feel toward Mr. Groundhog.
It’s embarrassing. Here I am, supposedly a prime example of the dominant species on the planet, and I’m being attacked by a furry little freak with a brain the size of a marble and no intrinsic value on the animal scale. What is particularly galling is that so far the furry little freak is winning. The score is Fuzzball 1, Homo sapiens 0.
What good are groundhogs? Animals can be graceful, majestic, cute, or unique. Some are valuable for their meat, milk or fur. Some provide companionship or entertainment. Other can be good for the environment or prey on pests. There are many reason why we like, value or protect animals. As far as I can see, groundhogs are one of the few animals that have no saving grace. It seems that groundhogs exist only to attack vegetable gardens and prey on the hard work of others. In that sense they are a lot like politicians.
But at this point I really don’t care if the groundhog that’s attacking my garden is a wonder of nature, can solve quadratic equations and cure the common cold. It has attacked my cabbages, and an attack on my cabbages is an attack on me. It’s my version of NATO. I am duty-bound to eliminate the threat.
I have researched the best ways to send Mr. Groundhog to that great burrow in the sky. Someone suggested I drive to Tennessee, buy the biggest firecracker I can find and toss it down the burrow. The theory is that the overpressure of the explosion will kill the groundhog. I’m still mulling that one over. I think it may take a bigger firecracker than I can buy.
Another person suggested piping car exhaust down the groundhog hole. That has possibilities.
Yet another suggestion is to buy a ferret and send it down the groundhog’s burrow. I’m not so sure about that one.
I’ve been reading about the battles the Marines fought in the Pacific in World War II. Flamethrowers were pretty effective against Japanese pillboxes. That gave me the idea of bleeding propane into groundhog’s burrow and igniting it. My only concern is that the burrow is under my pole barn, and there is a chance I may blow up my pole barn or burn it down. I’m not prepared to go that far just to kill Mr. Groundhog…yet.
So I have taken what I consider a reasonable, measured response to the problem. I bought a couple of traps. One of the traps is absolutely vicious. It’s a miniature bear trap, and it scares the hell out of me. It could easily break a finger when it snaps shut. Just the act of setting it is enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. Once it’s set I have to sneak the bait onto a plate in the center of the trap, and that brings my hand into the danger zone. I now know how it feels like to be an explosive ordinance disposal technician.
The other trap is a live trap. It’s basically a long wire box with a trap door at one end. The company that makes it must have a perverted sense of humor. When I took the trap out of the box I discovered that the instructions on how to open the trap were inside the trap. This is an example of the sink or swim method of instruction. By the time I figured out how to get the instructions out of the trap I didn’t need the instructions.
So far the miniature bear trap has not caught anything. What is a little disconcerting to me is that there is some animal out there that can take the bait off the trigger and still not set off the trap. The only explanations I can think of are that it is an animal that is too small to trigger the trap or an animal that is smarter and more dexterous than I am.
The live trap has worked. So far it’s been hell on possums. I’ve caught two of them, but that’s not much of an achievement. Around here they say that possums were at the back of the line when God gave out brains. I don’t know about that, but they certainly look like they were made out of leftover body parts.
So that’s where things stand. Mr. Groundhog is still lurking out there waiting for the right time to devastate my garden, and I’m still casting about for ways to eliminate the threat. Little did I know that I would be spending my retirement locked in mortal combat with predacious creatures that are far below me on the evolutionary tree. Now that I think about it, it’s not too much different than doing battle with plaintiffs’ attorneys, and I did that for 37 years.
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