Reflections on the Sixth Week of Winter – Groundhog Romp
 

Groundhog In, Spot Out

“Are you going outside to check for shadows?” My husband stared at me as if I could give him an intelligent answer.

Yawning, I shook my head to clear its morning fog. Okay, it’s Groundhog Day, and Spence wants to know if I’m going outside to check for shadows. Ambling to the kitchen, I studied our home weather station mounted on the wall. Negative fifteen degrees Fahrenheit (-26ºC) wind chill. I didn’t expect any of our groundhogs to crawl through the six inches of snow closing their burrows and check the weather. Me either. I sat in the Adirondack chair by the wood stove fire and booted up my computer. “I’m staying in. Punxsutawney Phil can check for me.”

I glanced at the calendar on the computer and discovered something I hadn’t realized after years of flipping paper calendar pages. Groundhog Day came three days after my late mother’s birthday. Once, on July 25, 2008, Mom and a day with a groundhog came together.

That day I’d slid the screen door open and yelled, “Hey, you! Get out of there.”

Spot, a neighbor’s beagle, whimpered at my feet. He’d scampered up the ramp to investigate Mom, who lounged on the deck reading a Maeve Binchy novel during her annual visit.

“Not you, Spot.” I reached down and scratched behind his ear. “The groundhog.”

Spence grumbled something about his beans and stomped down the ramp.

“Go with Spence, Spot.” I patted the beagle’s fanny. “You can chase the groundhog.”

Whether Spot understood my words or not, he raced after Spence.

Striding across the lawn to the garden, Spence called over his shoulder. “It’s trapped inside the bean fence. Bring your camera.”

Perfect! I’d tried for a decent photo of a groundhog for years. The critters didn’t stick around like wood turtles while I aimed the camera at them. My groundhog photos looked like brown lumps that might as well have been clumps of dirt. I grabbed my Sony Cyber-shot, dashed down the ramp, and tried to ignore the voice in my head.

 

A trapped groundhog is dangerous.

Tail curved up, Spot paced the perimeter of the chicken wire fence enclosing a forty by ten foot patch of squash and purple beans.

Spence stood beside a long side so I took position across from him.

The critter ducked under squash plants.

“How did it get in there?” I raised the camera and looked through the view screen. “Shouldn’t the fence keep groundhogs out?”

Spot put his paws on the top of the two-foot high chicken wire and stared at the critter.

“I checked the fence. There aren’t any gaps at the bottom.” Spence shrugged. “It must have climbed over.”

Spot jumped into the patch, put his nose to the ground, and chased the critter.

It scrambled under squash leaves and plowed down bean plants.

Through the camera view screen, I watched the animals whirl about like bumper cars in an amusement park. I took a dozen photos, then Memory Full flashed across the view screen. Sigh. I stuffed the camera into my short’s pocket. “How do we get the groundhog out?”

Spot on the Groundhog's Tail

 
Spence bent the short side of the chicken wire fence to the ground and placed a stone on the wire. “It can dash out here.”

Approaching the downed fence, the critter swerved and stopped nose to nose with the beagle.

Spot’s tail straightened and his nostrils quivered.

As if putting down roots, the groundhog stayed in place and growled.

Spence picked the beagle up and deposited him outside the fence. “Time to cool down. We don’t want you getting hurt.”

Spot patrolled the perimeter of the fence.

“The groundhog’s not very smart. It could dash to freedom.” I picked up some pebbles near the fence and tossed them at the critter’s butt to get it to move toward the opening.

Instead, the groundhog scuttled around the enclosure and turned to face me.

I stared at its long, chisel-like incisors.

Don’t get too close.

Right.

Spence removed the stone, unfastened the fence, and pulled the chicken wire aside to leave a ten-foot-wide escape path.

Spot jumped into the patch and chased the groundhog toward the opening.

The critter looped back and sat in the other end of the patch.

With his nose, Spot nudged the groundhog’s butt.

The critter spun around and growled.

Spence lifted the beagle out of the patch a second time.

Spot whimpered, patrolled half of the perimeter, and jumped back in.

Stepping inside the fence, I herded the groundhog.

It walked to the opening―success. But the critter turned, sat, and glared at me.

Spence handed me a four-foot branch. “Use this.”

I touched the groundhog’s foot with the tip of the branch.

The critter frowned and glared harder.

Do you want to get bit? Go put on heavy boots!

Ignoring the voice, I angled the branch and gently pushed the groundhog’s side.

The critter glared even more then accelerated out of the patch, across the yard, and past the wildflower garden.

Spot exploded into pursuit―his nose on the groundhog’s tail the whole way.

I giggled. “That groundhog sure was dumb. It took forever to find its way out.”

Spence frowned and stared at his plants.

“Is there much damage?” I looked around my feet. “The pumpkins look fine, but the animals smashed a couple of beans.”

Spence fingered the smashed bean leaves. “They’ll probably recover. If they don’t, I can plant more.”

Side by side, we walked back to the deck where Mom had a different perspective on our romp with the groundhog.

She lay the Maeve Binchy novel on her lap. “The groundhog had you all buffaloed. He was smart staying out of your way. Didn’t you want to catch him?”

Reflecting on that July day warmed my soul. I forced my mind back to the computer and checked for Phil’s prediction. He didn’t see his shadow―an early spring.

I glanced through the sliding glass door to the sunny south garden. Glad I stayed inside and let Phil do the predicting, I heard that inner voice again.

But Phil’s only right thirty-nine percent of the time.

Mom, Spot, and George Looking On