The Woodchuck Saga
Our backyard has been the site for more drama this summer than anything you could see on the Discovery Channel or National Geographic. I've watched it all take place from the viewpoint of my sunroom...you know, the place with the grand mauve blinds?
(I'm now proceeding on the dim theory that if I mention the mauve blinds enough, Trent may take pity some day and just throw me 500 bucks. It could happen, people. It could).
It began with Anne, our backyard neighbor. Our backyards are connected by Anne's lilac bushes and her forsythia. I'm still not convinced Anne really lives in her house, since there are never any lights on at night. It's possible, however, that she goes to bed at 6:30 and doesn't believe in electricity.
Anyway, for a long time, we didn't think Anne liked us, because we'd shout out "hello" to her and she'd never respond. Turns out, she's just hard of hearing, because Trent finally caught her attention last spring and she's been chatty kathy with us ever since.
One day, Anne told us she believed we had skunks living under our deck. She said she saw one. This is alarming because...they are skunks. And skunks smell. About two weeks later, Anne amended this report, telling us that it was woodchucks living under the deck.
"Oooh, for cute," I responded when Trent informed me of this. I'd never seen a woodchuck and I was still enamored with all the wildlife that lived in our backyard. Remember this? Anyway, true to my belief, I left the woodchucks alone, trying to live and let live.
That belief system was blown to smithereens when we went to Manhattan in June and came home to find half the flowers in the backyard eaten up. Trent was ticked. He doesn't often get ticked, this husband of mine, but he was pretty mad. This means he sort of spoke in a louder voice and didn't laugh. That's about as bad as Trent gets. But he did allude to violence, which was shocking. He said, "Honey, I'm telling you what, if I had a shotgun, we'd be eating venison tonight."
He was referring, mistakenly, to deer. I guess Trent believed that a herd of deer had come charging up the hill, broken into the backyard, and eaten all of our nasturtiums before we could.
It was Anne who corrected us. Apparently, the woodchucks had taken the springtime to multiply and replenish the earth, and now a family of 4 were eating everything green and pretty in our backyard and that of our neighbors.
Live and let live, no more. You eat our flowers and we will declare war on you.
We called up some bounty hunters (not really. But I don't know what to call them. Trappers? They're people who actually make a living catching vermin that live in other people's backyards. It's a booming business here. Who knew?). Their cost? $200.
"Bah!" said Trent. "We will catch them ourselves."
So he laid out traps. Day after day after day after day, my attorney husband with the beautiful hands of a concert pianist, set traps and laid in wait. My nephews got in on the action, as did our neighbors, our friends, and our fellow ward members
Everyone had a piece of advice. "Drown 'em out!" our friend Sharleen told us. "Or find their hole and put rat poison down it!"
That felt rather inhumane, however, and I did not know what to do with rotting woodchuck carcass, even though Sharleen assured me that the hole would be deep enough to keep the carcass smell from coming up.
A pause for 2 quick asides: 1)Is it at all strange to you yet that these are the sort of conversations that are dominating my time of late? and 2) why is it when you use the word "smoke bomb" in front of any man or boy their eyes light up like you've just told them you have front row seats to "Stadium of Fire"? You wouldn't believe the smoke bomb conversations I've had with those of the male gender this summer.
Anyway. We found some friends who had some traps of their own. We set the traps every day. Trent caught 4 to 5 squirrels and some chipmunks, but other than that, no woodchucks.
The situation was getting desparate. Our beautiful backyard was getting eaten up every day. The woodchucks were getting brazen in their behavior. They started breaking into the hot tub, and having parties, staying up way past curfew and leaving their beer cans all over the deck.
Just kidding. About the beer, that is.
And then, suddenly, a change occurred. I noticed that the backyard seemed to be growing back, slowly, but certainly. And I didn't have a woodchuck prancing boldly through my backyard for days. "I wonder if the woodchucks have moved on" I said to Trent one day, as he left to go set yet another trap.
"Hmmm," he said. "You're right, I think. I haven't seen them lately. Let me just give this trap one more try."And out he went to the backyard.
He came back inside chuckling.
"I think I know where the woodchucks have gone," he said,
"Oh yeah," I said? "What happened?"
Trent then explained how he saw the neighbors new red dog go prancing through our backyard and up the small hill to where our other neighbors lived. He stopped setting the trap when he saw the dog come back down the hill moments later with a big woodchuck between his jowls. Trent did some quick thinking and realized that the disappearance of the woodchucks was timed pretty closely to the arrival of the new dog.
And so, my friends, the moral of the story is this:
It's a violent world out there. Watch out for the new dog on the block.
(I'm now proceeding on the dim theory that if I mention the mauve blinds enough, Trent may take pity some day and just throw me 500 bucks. It could happen, people. It could).
It began with Anne, our backyard neighbor. Our backyards are connected by Anne's lilac bushes and her forsythia. I'm still not convinced Anne really lives in her house, since there are never any lights on at night. It's possible, however, that she goes to bed at 6:30 and doesn't believe in electricity.
Anyway, for a long time, we didn't think Anne liked us, because we'd shout out "hello" to her and she'd never respond. Turns out, she's just hard of hearing, because Trent finally caught her attention last spring and she's been chatty kathy with us ever since.
One day, Anne told us she believed we had skunks living under our deck. She said she saw one. This is alarming because...they are skunks. And skunks smell. About two weeks later, Anne amended this report, telling us that it was woodchucks living under the deck.
"Oooh, for cute," I responded when Trent informed me of this. I'd never seen a woodchuck and I was still enamored with all the wildlife that lived in our backyard. Remember this? Anyway, true to my belief, I left the woodchucks alone, trying to live and let live.
That belief system was blown to smithereens when we went to Manhattan in June and came home to find half the flowers in the backyard eaten up. Trent was ticked. He doesn't often get ticked, this husband of mine, but he was pretty mad. This means he sort of spoke in a louder voice and didn't laugh. That's about as bad as Trent gets. But he did allude to violence, which was shocking. He said, "Honey, I'm telling you what, if I had a shotgun, we'd be eating venison tonight."
He was referring, mistakenly, to deer. I guess Trent believed that a herd of deer had come charging up the hill, broken into the backyard, and eaten all of our nasturtiums before we could.
It was Anne who corrected us. Apparently, the woodchucks had taken the springtime to multiply and replenish the earth, and now a family of 4 were eating everything green and pretty in our backyard and that of our neighbors.
Live and let live, no more. You eat our flowers and we will declare war on you.
We called up some bounty hunters (not really. But I don't know what to call them. Trappers? They're people who actually make a living catching vermin that live in other people's backyards. It's a booming business here. Who knew?). Their cost? $200.
"Bah!" said Trent. "We will catch them ourselves."
So he laid out traps. Day after day after day after day, my attorney husband with the beautiful hands of a concert pianist, set traps and laid in wait. My nephews got in on the action, as did our neighbors, our friends, and our fellow ward members
Everyone had a piece of advice. "Drown 'em out!" our friend Sharleen told us. "Or find their hole and put rat poison down it!"
That felt rather inhumane, however, and I did not know what to do with rotting woodchuck carcass, even though Sharleen assured me that the hole would be deep enough to keep the carcass smell from coming up.
A pause for 2 quick asides: 1)Is it at all strange to you yet that these are the sort of conversations that are dominating my time of late? and 2) why is it when you use the word "smoke bomb" in front of any man or boy their eyes light up like you've just told them you have front row seats to "Stadium of Fire"? You wouldn't believe the smoke bomb conversations I've had with those of the male gender this summer.
Anyway. We found some friends who had some traps of their own. We set the traps every day. Trent caught 4 to 5 squirrels and some chipmunks, but other than that, no woodchucks.
The situation was getting desparate. Our beautiful backyard was getting eaten up every day. The woodchucks were getting brazen in their behavior. They started breaking into the hot tub, and having parties, staying up way past curfew and leaving their beer cans all over the deck.
Just kidding. About the beer, that is.
And then, suddenly, a change occurred. I noticed that the backyard seemed to be growing back, slowly, but certainly. And I didn't have a woodchuck prancing boldly through my backyard for days. "I wonder if the woodchucks have moved on" I said to Trent one day, as he left to go set yet another trap.
"Hmmm," he said. "You're right, I think. I haven't seen them lately. Let me just give this trap one more try."And out he went to the backyard.
He came back inside chuckling.
"I think I know where the woodchucks have gone," he said,
"Oh yeah," I said? "What happened?"
Trent then explained how he saw the neighbors new red dog go prancing through our backyard and up the small hill to where our other neighbors lived. He stopped setting the trap when he saw the dog come back down the hill moments later with a big woodchuck between his jowls. Trent did some quick thinking and realized that the disappearance of the woodchucks was timed pretty closely to the arrival of the new dog.
And so, my friends, the moral of the story is this:
It's a violent world out there. Watch out for the new dog on the block.
Comments
Except that we got a dog on purpose to solve the problems for us.
Squirrels, woodchucks, deer, racoons, etc. are so fun to watch with kids, but when they get in the garden they become the enemy awfully fast. It's kind of sad that they're just not cute to me anymore.
And please don't think me foolish when I tell you that I thought a woodchuck was a bird.
Wait, maybe it is. I dunno.