One of my favorite natural events during the year is seeing the first groundhog emerge from its underground den. Usually in mid-winter just after New Year’s, Alan and I will make bets when we will see the first groundhog. I know, I know, groundhogs are rodents – mere pests. Who can really say that their little round-shaped ears, small button noses and obscenely bucked teeth are not cute? To my eyes they look like living teddy bears with a killer overbite.
I’m not sure when it first started but it was a few years into dating when Alan and I became hog chasers. If we were driving around and would happen to see one in a meadow or empty lot, we would drive in and park as close as possible without disturbing it. Then I would convince Alan to do the leg work; have him quietly walk up to them and get close as he could before they ran away. Even today we know where groundhogs can be consistently found and look for them as we drive by.
The first time I remember doing this was on a church’s property. The large cathedral loomed in the background, dwarfing the lower meadow area where the groundhog was feeding on grass and weeds. I slowly drove up the driveway and Alan got out. He got within thirty feet before the occupied animal looked up and realized it wasn’t alone. At first, it froze in a pointer-type position. I’m not sure if it was immobilized with fear or of curiosity about this strange “animal” walking towards it. It stayed that way for five seconds and decided it wasn’t curious anymore. It bolted, looking a lot like an undulating shaggy brown carpet, towards the high wild hedge where its burrow probably was.
The laugh we (mostly me) got from the groundhogs' reactions to our meddlesome intrusions become like an addictive high. Unfortunately, we abused our visiting rights too much and after the fourth and fifth time, the groundhogs would immediately run when it heard the car driving up the long driveway. It was time to look for another location to visit.
The best confrontation was at a small office building situated on a lot that was quite steep behind it. We were driving home and saw a very large one on the slope. I pulled into the parking lot expecting the groundhog to take off after hearing the car’s engine but it remained chewing happily away on clover. When Alan got out of the car, I told him not to shut the door in case it scared the groundhog away. It was so close to the wall of brush and climbing vines, although it would have to run uphill to get to it. Alan started to climb the hill, and yet, the groundhog remained in its own world of culinary bliss of clover.
Alan approached it laterally; however the animal had its back to him and couldn't see him. Fifteen feet and closing. I could barely contain the laughter building up inside me that tears began to run down my cheeks. Ten feet and closing! The groundhog’s head bobbed up and down chomping and ripping the clover from its roots. Then Alan froze. The disbelief that he could be closer than ten feet from a wild animal that was unrestrained was unusual and unexpected.
Alan uttered a gentle “hello” which broke the spell of clover smorgasbord for the groundhog. It turned its head quickly, with green stems jutting out of his mouth in all directions, to see a five foot ten human smiling down at him. We could almost see the groundhog take assessment of his situation; calculating the distance between itself and the safety of the brush while considering its own speed going up the steep slope to get there. It made a move directly for the brush but the slope was too challenging and its movements were as if in slow motion. Alan made a slight move to block it from getting away. The groundhog stopped, recalculated and attempted a new path – only a few inches from the first one. At this point, Alan felt bad for the poor animal and let him pass.
When Alan got back to the car, I needed a few minutes to recover from the abdominal pain I was experiencing from laughing so hard. It may not sound funny to you but to have seen it in person is a different story. In fact, this moment we shared with that groundhog without getting it recorded goes in my book as a gigantic regret. I am very thankful, though, that something as simple as a mere rodent could give us that much happiness and laughter.
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