Her favorite things include squirrels, attention, and your food.
But at camp, her new found love became the resident Mama Woodchuck that lived beneath Aunt Becky's cabin (or as Gram called them, cottages).
We knew it was a Mama because my nephew, Levi, 5 yrs old, had spotted a woodchuck this big. Demonstrating with his hands to show about a 6 inch space and using a tiny small baby voice when saying, this big. The woodchuck that Maggie became friends with was NOT this big. It was, in fact, larger. So we concluded the one we saw and the one Levi saw were two separate woodchucks, therefore, a Mama and a baby.
A smart woodchuck would wait until 'lights out' before venturing to feed it's young. Quite possibly, the youngster was complaining
of hunger pains and she could no longer stand the whining of her impatient child, and contrary to all the advice in the book titled 'raising young woodchucks' she made the choice to secure her sanity. Maybe she thought she was smart. I mean, Maggie is smaller in comparision. What did she have to fear? Fear itself?She made the move.
Maggie was quicker.
And louder.
The poor woodchuck didn't stand a fighting chance.
Mama was chased.
Chased to the refuge located under Gramp's car and beside his wheel.
She was cornered by a wildly barking Maggie and surrounded by a large group of curious, picture-taking humans.
Where could she go? How could she get back?
Shivering, she made her 2nd move.
Up into the engine of the car.
Incessant pounding on the hood by my father-in-law continued to no avail.
A choice to open the hood and locate the Mama to eventually do...what?
Who knows?
But, it worked and she made her 3rd move.
All the while, Maggie sticking close to her heels, barking.
Lightening speed. A blur of brown, black, and dappled.
And phew. Mama made it home.
And for the next hour, Maggie's face was all she could see out her door.
Mama's adventure landed her no food, a few heart attacks, a workout, and a free haircut.
Please note that the substance located inside the red circle is WOODCHUCK FUR! |
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Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year - it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. -Unknown