I’ve been watching this guy watching the garden. He’s been watching it. I’ve been watching him. He’s a blur in this picture–the blur dead center because I was in the house, looking through a window and the screen…a dilemma.
Co-existence is important to me. So is living in harmony with my environment. But I have history with groundhogs–have provided them more meals from the garden than a reasonable creature should expect. My general m.o. is live and let live. Make room for. Scoot over. But my experience with groundhogs and gardens is that they don’t know when they’ve had their share. Don’t know when to stop. Don’t stop, in fact, until everything is GONE.
And now, since this garden is getting to the really ripe stage, I decided the groundhog needed to be relocated. Baited a hav-a-heart with cantaloupe and set it out in the back yard. Something tripped it during the night. False alarm. But this afternoon, just a little bit ago, I glanced over to where the trap perched on the side of the bank, and truly, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Poor thing was freaking out. Panting. Pacing. So I moved the trap into the shade. In my thinking, I hadn’t gotten this far–had not figured out what I would do if I DID catch something. Fortunately my sister was generously willing to help me relocate the fella. And now he’s down the road a bit, in a lovely glade on the banks of Hominy Creek. Hopefully far enough away so that his internal compass won’t help him find his way back.
And the trap is back on the hillside. I know there are more and I think how nice it would be if I caught all of them and the family could be reunited. That bothers me. Taking him away from his family. It really bothers me.