“Yep. It’s a woodchuck.”
I made the declaration with confidence after spending half an hour studying a compelling article titled, “Woodchucks and their droppings.”
The little fella startled me for the first time last week when he emerged from under a wide-leafed plant in my garden.
I greeted his fat little nose and big brown eyes with a lump of dirt followed by a bucket of water. He took no offense and returned the next day to sit on the deck with the cat.
For weeks I’d noticed odd signs in my garden, beginning with the droppings. We don’t have a dog, but the yard suggested we might.
My perennials were under siege. The lilies and phlox had been decapitated. “Where are the tops of my plants?” I blamed deer but didn’t see any deer tracks.
Because I am a bit of an environmentalist wacko, I keep a kitchen scrap compost pile and use the material to amend my garden soil.
While investigating the habits of woodchucks, I learned they are especially fond of watermelon rinds. My tossing watermelon rinds onto the compost pile was the equivalent of putting out woodchuck bait.
So I stopped.
Then I read this, “Mostly herbivorous, woodchucks eat primarily wild grasses and other vegetation, including berries and agricultural crops, when available.”
Berries? My raspberry bushes are absolutely loaded with plump, red berries.
When my rodent garden companion learns the rinds are gone from the compost pile, he can simply waddle over to the raspberry patch and eat to his heart’s content.
So I’ve hatched a plan. It involves a live trap and possibly a cookbook.
At first I wasn’t sure if I should name the woodchuck, but now I think I will.
I’m calling him “Stu.”