Zippy

I may have mentioned in the past that our neighbour has a groundhog we have named Zippy.

Now, Zippy is not, in actual fact, the neighbour’s own personal groundhog; he is just a groundhog who happens to live under the neighbour’s deck. He has done for almost the entire time we’ve lived here, so maybe 10 years. So he’s the neighbour’s groundhog, at least in my mind.

I also know that groundhogs only tend to live for 5 or 6 years, so this is probably not truly the original Zippy, but maybe Zippy Jr. or perhaps Zippy Mark III. Whatevs. He’s Zippy to us.

We have named him Zippy because, like most groundhogs, he’s mostly not so much zippy. I mean, he can move fast, or as fast as a furry water balloon with legs or a bag full of jello with legs can move. But mostly, he just meanders around the yard, partaking of the varied and sundry vegetational substances that my yard and garden have to offer.

Periodically, though, because he is a somewhat portly fellow, I have to go out and gently shoo him out of wherever he’s gotten himself into, mostly for fear his fuzzy girth will squash my more delicate flowers. Or that he’ll eat all my vegetables.

Zippy does not like this much. He has attitude, which is another reason why I like him.

In the past, he would scurry back into his (read: the neighbour’s) yard, where his hidey hole is, and clamber up on his (read: the neighbour’s) deck. And from there, he would glare at me. Give me the old groundhog Death Stare of Great Peevishness. Sometimes I would act intimidated, because it is our philosophy that we like others to feel they are doing well, and, well, I totally wasn’t intimidated. At all. But he didn’t know that, and I like to think it made him feel a little puffed up with pride that he had me quivering in my gardening crocs.

But mostly, I just told him to pipe down and stop sulking and wasn’t there some lovely grass somewhere to be eaten?

And thus, for years, we have gotten on peaceably.

So, it was to my great surprise and delight to go downstairs to the basement yesterday to exercise, and to walk by the window and see some movement. Movement, as it turns out, that was Zippy, IN OUR WINDOW WELL, nomming on some tasty weeds.

Now, first off, there’s a little walled garden around the window well. I was a mite concerned that the chubby old Zipster might have gotten himself into a spot he couldn’t heft himself out of. But also? MY FLOWERS. If this is not the first time he’s been there (and I suspect it was not) then I can safely assume it is HE who is responsible for the crushing and general maiming of some of my flowers contained in said garden.

It was time to go tell Zippy to shift it.

Now, dealing with Zippy is like dealing with an old, fat, errant dog who periodically wanders into your yard. You don’t want to be mean about it, but you have to be stern enough for him to know you mean business. Also, DUDE. He’s a GROUNDHOG. He’s probably not so good at the English.

So I went out and stood at the patio door.

There sat Zippy, nomming happily, a big leaf of something hanging out of his mouth in a very cartoon fashion.

“Zippy!” I said.

Zippy looked up, startled.

“Zippy! NO NO! No, Zippy!”

He scrambled up out of the window well, over the garden, squashing my flowers. You will note he still had a GIANT leaf of some weedlike thing hanging out of his mouth. I stifled a giggle.

He froze on the deck, in the manner of generations of rodentia before him. “OHO! Perhaps if I FREEZE, the big two legged thing will not NOTICE ME!”

FREEZE, went Zippy.

I was not fooled.

“No Zippy!” I said. “NO NO! BAD BOY! Bad Zippy! Scoo scoo!”

And I made that vague little hand waving motion one makes to encourage small elderly fat dogs, and indeed, fat groundhogs, to move their girth elsewhere.

Zippy did not take kindly to my exhortations. He game me THE LOOK, and then scurried off the patio, and under the fence back into the safety of his (read: the neighbour’s) yard. PROBABLY MUTTERING UNDER HIS BREATH THE ENTIRE WAY.

I giggled.

I felt bad because he was only eating weeds, after all. So, you know, at least he was being USEFUL. But I don’t really want him making a habit of hanging about in our window well and stomping on my flowers.

Although, secretly, I loves him. So I kind of don’t mind so much.

But I am sure he will be back. He always is. Groundhogs, fortunately, do not hold grudges. And he is welcome, too. As long as my perennials aren’t too squashed to make it through the winter.