“The Battle
I need to digress for a few moments; otherwise, the full impact of Chuckie will be lost on everyone. Remember, now, I am going to attempt to ‘befriend’ him so that he will help me to encourage Wicky to go back home and/or just leave.
Chuckie was (is?) a formidable opponent. Eighteen inches tall, give or take, when sitting up, covered with coarse brown fur, and with teeth like two old fashioned bottle openers, only much longer, he is a fighting and eating machine of epic and admirable aptitude. Called the groundhog (Marmota monax), he is also known as a woodchuck, ground squirrel, or a land beaver. And, to me, a “BAG”, or the Bane of All Gardeners -- and anyone who hopes to have a healthy, green, and appealing lawn.
From a post on our organization’s message board, this helps to explain Chuckie. I henceforth will refer to it as “The Battle of Groundhog Hill”, part 1. The following was my response to a post by Les, who told us how, in 1959, Britain Parachuted Cats into the jungles of Borneo and Sarawak ! He wound up saying that if it were up to him, he’d have shot the cats out of cannons at the border! (Don’t worry – he always kids like this! We hope.):
Les,
Right about now, I could use that cannon, too!! My problem is not cats, but a furry little beast called a woodchuck (or groundhog, depending on what part of the country, or country, you live in). As far as I'm concerned, it is a total demon with one solitary goal: to single handedly decimate my lovely gardens!
Last year, "Chuckie" took a bite out of every green tomato, just ONE bite, mind you, spoiling the whole lot of 'em -- with the exception of exactly one lousy tomato for our salad. How thoughtful of him!! I had spent about $30.00 on tomato plants, $9.00 on MiracleGro plant food, $10.00 on sunscreen for myself, and $19.00 on tomato cages, to keep them "safe". NOT to mention the countless hours I spent watering, weeding, and nurturing my plants to the best of my ability. (Note to self: After figuring it all out, remember that I can save a bunch of money by buying tomatoes this year at a farm stand, and let it go at that.) But, I digress. Onward with the story...
So THIS year, I'm ready. Yup. Only SIX tomato plants, guarded by my faithful Shepard-Lab mix companion, Max, and armed to the teeth I am with ammonia, moth balls, screening, fake owls, and concrete blocks and other junk to plug up Chuckie's anticipated tunnel. Luck is with me: so far, so good -- the tomatoes are doing great.
Then, disaster strikes! (Did you seriously doubt that it would?!) In the back of my yard is a lovely little garden I call my "Angel Garden." Why? It has a statue of an angel in it and it is surrounded by my favorite plants of all: hostas. Oh, what marvels of nature they are! Green ones, gold ones, green and white ones, and even green and green ones -- and Angel benevolently smiling down on them from his perch, an old bird bath.
I heard mega-barking. From a distance, I could see green things being tossed, like a giant salad, in the air. Max was going nuts! When I finally got to the end of my yard, I saw something that caused my very eyebrows to curl, and my fingernails to almost fall off!! There was Max, lying IN the angel garden, surrounded by bits and pieces of my hosta plants everywhere!! His eyes were glued to one corner of the garden; I swear, he looked like a Sentry on Guard Duty, only furrier. Bending over and craning my neck forward, I saw that he was guarding a HOLE, about 8 inches in diameter that craftily slunk away underneath the fence into my neighbor Harry’s yard.
(I am pausing here for one minute in respect for three out of four hostas that are no longer with us.)
That did it!!! WAR was officially declared! Ammonia went down the hole, as did moth balls, bits of concrete, screening, rags, one old boot, and one last squirt of ammonia. I even put a little fence around the scene of the crime, just to add a little more aggravation to the mix for Chuckie.
It is now day 7; no sign of the beastie. All plants are present and accounted for, including two dozen green. fully- intact tomatoes. Max continues to stand guard (sort of -- he sleeps a lot), and so far, so good.
Then it hit me: I tempted Fate.
Right about now, I could use that cannon, too!! My problem is not cats, but a furry little beast called a woodchuck (or groundhog, depending on what part of the country, or country, you live in). As far as I'm concerned, it is a total demon with one solitary goal: to single handedly decimate my lovely gardens!
Last year, "Chuckie" took a bite out of every green tomato, just ONE bite, mind you, spoiling the whole lot of 'em -- with the exception of exactly one lousy tomato for our salad. How thoughtful of him!! I had spent about $30.00 on tomato plants, $9.00 on MiracleGro plant food, $10.00 on sunscreen for myself, and $19.00 on tomato cages, to keep them "safe". NOT to mention the countless hours I spent watering, weeding, and nurturing my plants to the best of my ability. (Note to self: After figuring it all out, remember that I can save a bunch of money by buying tomatoes this year at a farm stand, and let it go at that.) But, I digress. Onward with the story...
So THIS year, I'm ready. Yup. Only SIX tomato plants, guarded by my faithful Shepard-Lab mix companion, Max, and armed to the teeth I am with ammonia, moth balls, screening, fake owls, and concrete blocks and other junk to plug up Chuckie's anticipated tunnel. Luck is with me: so far, so good -- the tomatoes are doing great.
Then, disaster strikes! (Did you seriously doubt that it would?!) In the back of my yard is a lovely little garden I call my "Angel Garden." Why? It has a statue of an angel in it and it is surrounded by my favorite plants of all: hostas. Oh, what marvels of nature they are! Green ones, gold ones, green and white ones, and even green and green ones -- and Angel benevolently smiling down on them from his perch, an old bird bath.
I heard mega-barking. From a distance, I could see green things being tossed, like a giant salad, in the air. Max was going nuts! When I finally got to the end of my yard, I saw something that caused my very eyebrows to curl, and my fingernails to almost fall off!! There was Max, lying IN the angel garden, surrounded by bits and pieces of my hosta plants everywhere!! His eyes were glued to one corner of the garden; I swear, he looked like a Sentry on Guard Duty, only furrier. Bending over and craning my neck forward, I saw that he was guarding a HOLE, about 8 inches in diameter that craftily slunk away underneath the fence into my neighbor Harry’s yard.
(I am pausing here for one minute in respect for three out of four hostas that are no longer with us.)
That did it!!! WAR was officially declared! Ammonia went down the hole, as did moth balls, bits of concrete, screening, rags, one old boot, and one last squirt of ammonia. I even put a little fence around the scene of the crime, just to add a little more aggravation to the mix for Chuckie.
It is now day 7; no sign of the beastie. All plants are present and accounted for, including two dozen green. fully- intact tomatoes. Max continues to stand guard (sort of -- he sleeps a lot), and so far, so good.
Then it hit me: I tempted Fate.
Oh, woe is going to be me when Chuckie's escape tunnel surfaces! I know it will, it's just a matter of time. Only this time, I'm really going to be in for it. You see, I entered my PRIZE HOSTA in a gardening contest. I am quite sure Chuckie will reconnoiter, and when he does, he is going for the gold. Of that, I have no doubt. It's only four more days until the judges come to my house to view my magnificent hosta, four more days of watching...waiting....watching...guarding, and all that.
I think we're more or less secure, but I'm not betting on it.
Prize Hosta Plant
My neighbor, Harry, snapped a picture of the beast in his yard yesterday. I have a feeling I'm in for a Battle Royale! I could be wrong, but see below...
"Chuckie"
To be continued....
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Note: to continue reading about Wicky, please look to your right and click on each successive chapter's link.
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