Ahh, good old Groundhog Day. If you know me well, you know I
have a serious groundhog problem.
Or lately a problem with one groundhog in particular. The
one that lives in my small city garden. I don’t know the square footage of my
garden, but if I placed three basketball players end to end, they’d reach my
back fence. Two of those dudes would cover the width. Basically it’s the size
of a wealthy person’s smallest closet, the closet for their mice.
Which means when my groundhog attacks, she doesn’t have far
to go to crunch and munch. But my old gal is a wily creature. She’s lived in my
yard for so long I should name her, well, I have called her quite a few choice
names, but nothing solid.
If she arrives to taunt me this year, I might name her Katy
Perry just for the fun of yelling, “Katy Perry, get out of my yard!” Katy Perry
also annoys me so it’s a fair deal.
How do I know my latest groundhog is a she? Her sheer
tenacity. You see, I have a humane Hav-a-hart trap. I catch the critters and
transport them miles away. Two years ago I might have caught Katy Perry’s ex-husband.
Russell Brand sorta looks like a groundhog, eh? I have tried to catch my stubborn pit
dweller but no lie, she’s lasted for going on three years. I recognize her
graying pelt. She loves to stand on the dirt mound she’s created and stare at
me in sheer triple dog dare insolence. She’s an old queen holding down her
fort. I mean nothing to her.
In years past I have dumped the contents of my rabbit’s
litter boxes in the huge, three foot wide pit she’s crafted. That trick kept
her away for two weeks. I have tried fox urine and five other kinds of
repellents. One petulant fit drove me to throw the empty repellent bottles into
the hole. The next day she had tossed them out in a fine “screw you” manner.
The old gal owns brash style.
In 2011, as the spring and summer seasons toddled along, I
baited the trap with carrot, apple, cucumber, cherries, strawberries,
cantaloupe, pear, kale, Boston lettuce, crackers, nuts, banana, orange, fresh herbs, daisies, other flowers, various combinations
of the previous treats, various combinations of the previous treats smeared with
peanut butter, and finally, what the hell, Canadian bacon. I stopped short of cooking eggs for
her.
Nothing worked. The trap caught stupid squirrels and a few
possums. I let them go.
Her refusal baffled me. In late August I tried to compromise by putting out
things she might like, like lettuce cores, beet greens, little treats to
appease her appetite and keep her away from my precious dahlias.
Boom, when early autumn arrived and my garden thrived, she knocked over
dahlias, ate any surviving zinnias, and savaged the daisies.
Now on Groundhog Day 2012, I wonder if Katy plans to return to
terrorize me.
Maybe this year I will cook eggs for her. Above all I'll never hurt her. I respect her too much.
Wait. I never tried raw eggs. Hmmm.
Game on.
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