Stan and Ollie

September 1, 2025

Greetings from where I taunt you a second time,

Loyal readers will know from previous missives that there has been a groundhog in my yard for a number of years.  The number, I will not state, in part because I’m a little embarrassed at how long I have put up with him, and in part because I can’t remember.

I’ll pause here to digress in order to tell you that in the past whenever I was struggling to define a time span in my history, I would usually say “It’s been about five years.”  Until a few months ago (at least I think it was) I made that guess and missed the time by two decades.

Regardless of the exact dates, it has been some time that I have been trying to capture the groundhog, and take him to some happier place, meaning a place where I didn’t live.  When he was in our yard I was not happy.  At least not with him. 

I guess that’s not quite fair.  I have not been unhappy with the groundhog, per se, who I have named ‘Ollie’, because Per Se is not appropriate. Ollie has performed remarkably well as a groundhog, so from one perspective, I have been neutral in regard to his performance in the role in which he was assigned.

Of course, I am not actually responsible for reviewing his performance in that role.  My position is more of an annoyed, yet neutral, observer.  Ollie’s area of responsibility is basically to eat, pursue relationships with female groundhogs, and dig elaborate tunnels around the foundation of my house.  That last part is where my neutral opinion of him ends. 

You may be tempted to offer suggestions to resolve this conflict. We have gone to great trouble, and no small expense to trap him humanely. (I will spare you my objection to the word ‘humanely’ in relation to non-humans)  I have considered every option including the violent ones; lethal trap, poison, shotgun, crossbow, trebuchet, bolo, and of course the Uno ‘Draw Four’ card.

But my temperament would not allow any of those, and so the most severe response so far has been stern rebukes shouted down the mouth of a tunnel. This was as effective as all of our trapping efforts, and those of trained professionals.   Ollie seems to be untrappable.

I have had mixed feelings about the groundhog for a while. (I will not hazard a guess how long.)  On the one hand I resent his fearless, nearly insolent attitude as he burrows around our yard.  He does not seem affected by our presence or our efforts to trap him.  When we fill in his holes, he simply excavates them out, spraying dirt up on our deck.  Some days he comes right up on the deck and suns himself.

But, I’m not really mad at Ollie, in fact I often forget to think of him at all.  He is doing what is natural to him, in a place that, as far as he is concerned, is his home.  I have seen him running across the yard, which is comical, and that makes it harder for me to dislike him.  I gave up on trapping him and began figuring out how to live with him.

Then, a second groundhog appeared, not quite as large or round as Ollie.  I have named him Stanley.  I am unclear what their relationship is, and I am not curious enough to think about it.  All I know is the number of tunnels is increasing. That tipped me back over into the resentful category.

And so we enlisted the help of yet another professional trapper. I’ll be honest, I was not optimistic.  Stan and Ollie seemed to have the advantage, at least they had more momentum in the trap-avoidance activity.

But, whether it was odds or luck or karma, one day this week (or maybe last week) Stanley wandered into the trap.  Perhaps he is not as wily as Ollie, or maybe he was just hungrier, and the temptation of fresh apples was more than he could resist.  Regardless, he was caught. (Note to self, copyright ‘As Wily as Ollie’ for children’s book title.)

I came out on the deck with my sandwich and a book. Stanley was huddled in the cage on the ground, close enough that I could feel him watching me.  I felt a little sad for him, but it didn’t stop me from enjoying my ham and cheese. In the trees, the crows were gossiping, it felt like they were mocking the little animal in the trap.  Stanley offered no opinion.

He was sitting in the cage looking at me.  He didn’t know it, but he was waiting for the man who traps groundhogs to come and take him far enough away from here that he won’t return. Stanley seemed calm, but I have no idea what goes on in his mind.  Maybe every time he blinks he thinks it’s a new world.

I had my lunch, read a few pages of my book, and then, when I came to a paragraph I liked, I read it out loud to him.  I have no experience with the countenance of groundhogs, so I couldn’t tell from his expression, but I think it’s fair to assume he enjoyed it.  I mean, who doesn’t like Ann Napolitano?

Stanley is gone now, off to some new place where no one is judging his behavior and making stern rebukes.  Ollie is still around, still wily, staying out of sight, which is easier to do when you live underground.  There is a trap waiting for him if he gets curious, or careless. 

I’m back to thinking of Ollie in the neutral-but-annoyed sense.   He is a groundhog, not a friend or a pet, more like a condition with which to put up.  Like poison ivy.  But he is not the enemy, he doesn’t mean me harm.  He is simply  an animal whose circumstances intersected with mine, long enough ago that it could be five years or twenty years.  Neither of us cares.

I do wonder if, in Stanley’s little groundhog brain, there is a memory of a sunny afternoon when the birds were cawing at him, that he might remember the voice of a man sharing a few words from Hello Beautiful.   It’s nice to think so, but I can’t deal with the thought of a groundhog having a better memory than me.

Hope this finds you getting along with your neighbors

David

Copyright © 2025 David Smith