Chucking Chuck

I've always thought of myself as the queen of recycling. Mother Nature as my constant companion. Lover of animals. Patron of the parks. Hugger of trees. Sniffer of roses, etc.

Crime Scene

Then she came along. Mrs. Woodchuck.

Digging holes in my lawn. Waddling from side to side, she traversed my little backyard with all the grace of a hippo in a tutu. (Shades of Fantasia.)

In the spring, I saw that her number had tripled. She had two offspring with her, galumphing in her wake.

I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping a compost bin in my backyard. In my naivete, I didn't at first realize that the probable cause for the contents of the Rubbermaid bin's quick composting ability was because of my unwanted live-ins.

Until I read that ground hogs can smoosh themselves down to be nice and skinny and get into places you do not want them to get.

Aha.

So...in my attempt to be earth friendly, I had inadvertently been feeding this oversized rodent and her brood. Thanks, Mother Nature. Nicely played.

Now I have a bigger problem. While I wasn't quite so concerned when Chuckarina took up residence in the neighbor's shed, I was royally pissed off when I saw that she was starting to prepare a little vacation getaway under my back porch.

Off came the gloves. On went the Critter Ridder.

It worked for a little while. Unfortunately, once the smell wore off, my woolly friend returned. I piled bricks over the gap and put up some fencing, but all she did was dig around and under. I would go out to see that the bricks were moved, the fencing upended.

Curses, you rotten fur-covered burrower.

I did a lot of reading about woodchucks/groundhogs/whistle pigs/land-beavers. Unless I am willing to trap the beast and cart it off to a place more than 5 miles away (they do come back) or pay someone a chunk of change to do the dirty deed for me, this thing will likely stick around.

For my final act of defiance, I got some hot pepper from Chris to sprinkle around my porch. I made sure to put a bunch of it through the crack so it is under the steps, hoping that if the rotten creature makes it past my line of defense outside, she will be so overcome with sneezing that she abandons her new hibernating digs and goes back to the neighbor's shed.

Time will tell.

My other fear is that, much like the hobos in days of old, the Chuckster will leave a telltale sign for others of her kind (or other wild critters), indicating that my yard is a swell place to hang out. About a month or so ago, I saw a pair of oversized raccoons in my backyard. They turned and gave me a reproachful look.

I hope it was because I'm not putting food in my compost bin anymore.

Take that, you rotten rodents. And tell the others to go back to the MetroParks.

There's nothing for you here...nothing but a snootful of hot pepper.