Woodchuck chutzpah

The US East Coast -- though one of the most ecologically plundered, overpaved and congested pieces of the planet -- is home to a number of creatures which have adapted to mankind and even thrived, in some cases.

Individually, their state appears sad -- the squirrel crushed on a quiet neighborhood street by some idiot who one would hope pays more attention when children are in the roadway; the bird killed by an overfed house cat wandering outside at the behest of an ignorant owner; the deer crumpled by the side of the highway.

But collectively, such species are doing well, even if others such as martins/fishers and porcupines have long since fled from the noise and filth of man and face an uncertain future.

A very large groundhog/woodchuck has made its home beneath my shed and created a conundrum. If I only grew grass in my yard, like some unimaginative or yard-phobic souls, I would welcome him, along with the squirrels, toads, various birds, bees, moles, rabbits and chipmunks who come and go through the seasons.

But you see, I grow a garden. And it is one of the great ironies of the universe that the peaceful, tie-dyed, post-hippie gardener carrying home baskets of bounty for his/her family is a myth. Every shovelful of dirt you turn slaughters a dozen earthworms. Hornworms, asparagus beetles, potato bugs and other insects will find their preferred plant if you try to grow it, and if you ignore them like a nice little nature lover, you will harvest very little if anything at all. You can spray poison, which is stupid; or you can hunt down them and squish or stomp them, but you have to do something. Over and over again until your karma goose is surely cooked.

And then, there are the bigger freeloaders. Like my groundhog/woodchuck. I could tolerate his nibbling if mere nibbling was all he did. But the guy shuffles into my garden and grabs plants with both paws and chows down like a linebacker at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I'm not going to poison, trap or shoot.

I may buy some of that fox-pee crystal stuff they advertise, which supposedly scares the pooh pellets out of Chuckie the way that unemployment or death by razor slashes scares me.

Ah, Chuckie, your innocent greed makes a lie of my ecological pretensions.