I like to relax in my backyard. We have a garden filled with flowers and rock features and little spruce trees. The garden always has a colorful display of cardinals, blackbirds, and blue jays that flit around the feeder and splash in the bird bath. I spend a lot of time sitting with those birds, trying to teach them not to sing so loudly on Saturday mornings when I'm trying to sleep late.

The garden is a mini-paradise because my future wife, Jen, spends a lot of time and energy keeping it that way. She also spends a lot of time, energy and our accumulated life's savings at the Garden Center down the road. (Jen has a green thumb, but it's from the dye rubbing off all those dollar bills.)

It's money well spent — or at least that's what the birds tell me — so when several of our plants started disappearing we were both quite upset.

"All of my Cone Flower are gone!" Jen exclaimed.

"Were they expensive?" I exclaimed back.

It seems that our garden was built on top of an elaborate set of burrows, owned by a groundhog. On TV, groundhogs are happy little weather forecasters who pop up once a year, on February 2nd. In real life they're more like Al Roker at a buffet.

Jen was horrified, but I tried to put a positive spin on it. A ground hog den is a lot better than having a garden built on an old Indian burial ground. If we've learned anything from horror movies, it's that building your house on top of an old Indian burial ground is the best way to teach your children about property values.

FATHER: "Son, welcome to your new home!"

SON: "Gee Father, this place is swell. But with the real-estate market so inflated, how could we ever afford such an affluent abode?"

GHOST: "Well you see Timmy, price is a function of supply and demand. You've 'supplied' me with a reason to be angry, and now I'll 'demand' that you leave. GET OUT!"

SON: "Thanks, Mr. Ghost! Your cheap puns have made learning fun!"

But at least the groundhog seems to appreciate Jen's hard work. He's completely pampered, hanging out by the bird bath and munching on healthy greens. It's like a trip to the spa for him. But if the groundhog is hanging out at the "spa" for free, I'm the one footing the bill.

The Internet has a wealth of information about getting rid of groundhogs. Unfortunately none of it seems to be working.

I tried spraying down the plants with a mixture that contained cayenne pepper. But judging from how many of those plants the groundhog ate, he must be one of the rare types of groundhog that traveled here from India.

The Web taught me that dogs are supposed to be great groundhog deterrents. So I took Caesar, our Boston terrier puppy, out to guard the garden. But instead of catching the groundhog's scent and laying chase, Caesar started chewing on the grass. (At least he has less expensive tastes than the rodent in our backyard.)

A few minutes later I heard barking, so I dashed outside expecting a battle royale and found a tea party instead. While the groundhog was nibbling on daisies a few feet from Caesar, the dog had run out of grass and was barking for something else to eat.

"What the hell!" I shouted at Caesar, scaring the groundhog away. "You were supposed to attack him or something!"

The dog gave me a look that clearly said, "Oh, you wanted me to be brave? Maybe you should have thought about that before having me neutered."

I was running out of options. Traps didn't work (the groundhog ate the bait without even leaving a thank-you note), and I won't stoop to poison (that would hardly be fair). So decided to sell the groundhog on EBay.

Someone out there will want him, I'm sure — but shipping won't be included, so they'll just have to come and get him.

And if I'm very lucky, maybe I'll even make enough money to pay for this replacement order of Cone Flower.

Copyright © 2007 Andy Murphy
Please do not remove the copyright from this work.

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