The Worst Garden Pest Ever
 (Read 250+ times)
By Glory Lennon
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Ah, nature in all it’s forms! Such delight, such majesty, such wonder, such a pain in the you-know-what if they come between you and your idea of a perfect garden. Yes, I’ve had the attack of the Japanese beetles and no, they don’t sing nearly as good as John, Paul, George and Ringo. They gorge themselves on my Hibiscus leaving skeletal foliage. I’ve had moles burrowing beneath the hardwood mulch in my perennial beds leaving mounds of soil in their wake. I’ve had squirrels decimating my bird feeders to get at the yummy black-oil sunflower seeds. I’ve had racoons devour my corn, rabbits eat my lettuce, field mice munch on my strawberries and skunks leave a smelly trail that even my Honeysuckle vine’s heady perfume couldn’t camouflage. And don’t even get me started on the destruction left behind by the deer that call my four acres home! But none of those compared to the beastly thing that took residence under my porch. I speak of the hideous, notorious, diabolical and devious woodchuck or as my youngest son likes to affectionately call him Mr. Groundhog.
Oy! What I went through to be rid of that menace. And to think I actually thought he was cute at the start of our introduction to the wonder that is His Furry Highness. He appeared one day munching on the fallen apples from the apple tree in the backyard.
“Well, that’s okay,” I said stupidly. “They were all bruised from the great fall off the tree anyway. I can’t use them to make apple sauce now. This way they don’t go to waste.”
Ah, but if you’ve ever had twenty apples in one sitting you’ll know what awaited me once he ate his fill. Pity animals have no qualms about defecating where they eat. The stink was awful, the mess indescribable. Mr. Groundhog outlived his welcome rather soon after that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going anywhere. He found this abundant supply of food and ain’t no way he was giving it up. He took up residence under the toolshed.
“So, get rid of the toolshed and he’ll leave too.” my husband reasoned. The toolshed was on its last leg anyway so why not get rid of it? Made sense to me. Out it went and Mr. Groundhog’s burrow was uncovered. Surely, he would leave. Yes, we were that naive. He promptly found another home unfortunately it wasn’t in a neighbor’s yard. He decided to live under the enclosed porch we built to replace the dilapidated toolshed.
“He must likes tools,” my son, Tyler, exclaimed happily. “Just like Gopher on Winnie-the-Pooh. Isn’t that funny, Mom?” I wasn’t laughing. I was, however, planning his demise (Mr. Groundhog’s, I mean, not my son’s).
“You can’t kill him! He’s my friend.” Tyler shrieked when he heard things like “Smoke him out” and “Bomb his hole”. I lamented six-year-olds know nothing about friendship.
“Tyler, friends don’t come uninvited to eat whatever they want and leave a mess.” I explained calmly.
“Uncle Alex does and you don’t bomb him.” he countered logically. What could I say? He had me there.
Okay, so onto other means of banishing this beast. We tried to get our biggest cat to scare off Mr. Groundhog. He went right up to him, bumped noses, sniffed him and then proceeded to be life long pals. Traitor! Add dumb, lazy, male cats the size of a small cougar to the list of those who know nothing about friendship nor loyalty.
On to Plan 2. We stomped on his burrow destroying it. Then we bought a hav-a-heart trap baited it with his favorite apples and waited for him to oblige us by getting trapped so we could take him over the hill, across the river and through the woods to somebody else’s grandmother’s house to be released because mine would not appreciate me bringing her a woodchuck. He suddenly didn’t like apples anymore. He started munching on the peaches that fell off the supposedly sterile double-flowering weeping peach tree in the side yard. He sure liked those peaches. He had a stash of them under his porch. Oh, yes, it was his by then. Smelled like him and everything.
We did the only thing left. We got rid of Tyler. No, not permanently! We had him sleep over a friend’s house for a weekend while we REALLY took care of Mr. Groundhog. We tossed several smoke bombs into his burrow and waited. All seemed clear. Yippy! Tyler came back and a few days later so did the menacing rodent from hell. He hadn’t even been in the burrow when we bombed it. We suddenly knew what the Israeli army felt like going after Arafat.
Mr. Groundhog truly liked his home but I wasn’t done yet. We made certain he was in his hole before bombing it again and then we plugged up his entrance and exit. We had him! Yes, we were that naive. He merely made a side entrance and made a get-away to rival Al Capone. He was slick. But he didn’t return. He must have got the hint we didn’t want him around. Thick-headed as Uncle Alex, he was but I was deliriously cheered, that is until the next spring. He decided to make camp just outside our property line. Just out of reach so we couldn’t do anything to him but just close enough so he could reap all the rewards of fallen apples and peaches. I told you he was slick.
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Author Bio Box: Glory Lennon
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