I still haven’t forgotten the pair of young groundhogs that showed up in my backyard one June. They piled on the pounds so fast that within a day they couldn’t squeeze out through the hole in the fence they’d arrived through (not that they’d any intention of doing so).
Since the last thing I wanted was word getting about that my garden was a summer resort for groundhogs, I tried to be less than hospitable by forcing them to participate in a daily exercise program. Every evening I chased them around the yard, hoping they’d climb the fence (as they are well able to), but it soon became a game of catch as catch can and I was losing.
Even though groundhogs can’t match the speed and evasive tactics of a rabbit, they can run at a loping gallop of about ten miles an hour. That doesn’t sound very fast, but when I had to leap shrubs at a single bound while they were darting below, there was no way I could keep up, and besides, I’m not sure what I would have done if I had caught up with them.
I finally gave up and borrowed a live trap. I baited it with lettuce because it was obvious they were hooked on the stuff, and as there was no longer a single leaf left in the garden to satisfy their addiction, they couldn’t resist the crisp head of iceberg I bought for them and they were collared.
A quick trip to a groundhog sanctuary and that was that. I’m sure that wherever they are at this moment, unlike Phil and Willy, they’re fast asleep, no doubt dreaming of my lettuce patch.