My groundhogs have abandoned ship. At least they have vacated my property, presumably moving to higher ground. I can’t blame them—fully half of the days of the last two weeks their dens have been under water.
One dry day last week the mother groundhog appeared. She posed fetchingly in begging position and looked me in the eye.
I said, “There you are! Your place under the stump is still muddy. Where have you been staying?”
Perhaps for an answer, she turned and ran toward the back corner of the yard and crouched down in the tall grass. (My son has been happy to use the rain as an excuse for not mowing the lawn.) There had been a back door—a hole she had dug from under the stump—there. But we had blocked it quite a while ago with a large rock. I felt a pang of guilt. Poor creature, like many of the humans in nearby Wayne, she had been flooded out of her home.
“I’m so sorry,” I began.
But she dashed away under the fence to our back neighbor’s yard.
One of her offspring lived under our sunroom. One day after Irene had left everything soggy, I walked out the back door, surprising the kid, who was only two feet away at the entrance of the vegetable garden. The little guy ran around the corner of the house. I followed and saw the flash of a tail as it disappeared into a hole. Deciding I’d trap him and somehow relocate him, I blocked the hole with a rock.
Half an hour later I walked out to hang my wash—and there he was again! Once again he ran around the house. Once again I followed, to see him dash into a different hole. I took a good look then—and found two more holes to his den. Very enterprising youngster! After giving him several hours to leave home, I blocked all his exits and entrances.
I haven’t seen mother or son, nor evidence of their presence since then. While I do feel badly for them, I am grateful. The few vegetables mother and offspring left us in the garden now have a chance to ripen. However, our neighbors have recently found a groundhog hole. I believe they are not so grateful.
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