Toe to Toe with a Groundhog

My groundhog was out wandering around our backyard yesterday, looking for all the world like a Kennedy on vacation at Hyannis Port in spite of the fact that I stuck a garden hose down his hole under my shed the other day and flushed him out the other hole these wily gophers make sure to excavate for emergencies such as this.

After a few gallons descended on him, he came shooting out of his trench like a seal at feeding time.

Not since I first caught glimpse of the all-you-can-eat buffet at a popular local pizzeria have I seen any creature move so fast. (The second in line almost overtook me but I fought him off bravely.)

If the fire department came over to my house and for some reason filled it up with water while I was inside, I’d probably get out too and be reluctant to return, especially if my cherry pie was ruined.

I assumed the groundhog and I would share the same thought process on that but I was wrong. Either I don’t think like a groundhog or he doesn’t think like a man.

So, today, my ugly little friend (sorry, but he’s no George Clooney), it’s just you and me in combat once again now that you have returned. I will be armed this time with a bag of dirty cat litter, which an Internet search tells me you hate, and a big heavy rock to place over your hole after litter and soil have filled it in.

Have a nice summer at the neighbour’s, Buddy.

By the way, I don’t hate the groundhog but I can’t take the chance he’ll mess up our little poodle which is about the size of the hog and as bold as a stand-up comedian. Our veterinary hospital charges a bundle just to poof up his eyebrows so I shudder at the thought of how much it would cost to put a gopher-mangled dog back together again.

I will let you know how things work out. I only hope my next status update is not sent from a jail cell or the inside of a dog crate at the local Humane Society.

(Update: As I was advised would happen, the groundhog left and built a new home in the neighbours’ yard. I feel as guilty about that as I did when I beat out that guy second in line at the pizzeria.)

©2014 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.