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Woodchuck — Part 4
Images coming soon.
Woodchucks are seldom seen in the open pasture until the snow has about disappeared and the turf begins to feel soft under foot, with green grass and clover starting up in sheltered places, while those of the cultivated grass lands are still later about showing themselves, so that it would certainly seem that the duration of their winter nap depended largely on the food supply of the preceding summer. Still it is just possible that all the woodchucks return to the woods to "den in," in order to obtain a more even temperature than would be possible in the open ground. Instances of woodchucks having been unearthed in a state of hibernation in the winter are common enough, but whether in the woods or in the open appears uncertain.
In the summer the rambler often meets little woodchucks only a few weeks old, wandering about the fields alone and unprotected, having been driven from their homes by their hardhearted parents as soon as they were able to shift for themselves. These little waifs are not apt to show any alarm on being approached, commonly settling back on their haunches and attempting to bite anything that comes within reach, or else charging savagely at the intruder, with little husky, gurgling cries of anger. An old woodchuck will occasionally attack the person who threatens him, sometimes it would seem even when he is not cornered or confined in any way. But this is nothing to the perfectly reckless courage with which the youngster enters into the combat, as if he felt perfectly sure that he were going to have an easy thing of it. As soon, however, as he is quite convinced that you are not going to retreat, and that he is hardly likely to be able to dispose of you to his satisfaction, he starts off on a gallop, but as yet without any especial symptoms of fear, though if you persist in heading him off, he at last comes to realize that he is entirely at your mercy, and a wholly different expression comes into his eyes, he begins to tremble and shiver all over, and finally gives up all attempts to fight or run away, simply crouching in the grass in abject terror.
I once obtained possession of a little woodchuck that had been brought home uninjured by a dog. If I remember rightly, the original price of the animal was thirteen cents, with a much damaged fish line and hook thrown in. He was much too young to eat solid food, so we fed him on milk with a bottle and rubber nipple. When being fed he always sat up perfectly straight, grasping the rubber firmly between his little black hands, which always looked as if clothed in close-fitting black gloves, so sharply was the line drawn between the black of his paws and the brown fur on his wrists and shoulders. When nearly satisfied he would grip it so tightly that none of the milk could escape and, taking it from his mouth, turn away his head for a few seconds of breathing space and then fall to again. He grew rapidly on this diet, and soon developed a liking for green things generally, especially caraway blossoms. As these grew far out of his reach, often three or four feet from the ground, he found it necessary in order to get at them to sit up beside the stem and, grasping it in his paws, bend it over towards him, pulling it down hand over hand until he had reached the umbel shaped cluster of flower, every particle of which he ate, allowing the stalk to spring back into place when he had finished. Strangly enough, he never troubled the vegetables in the garden in any way, although allowed to wander about the place at his own discretion. He managed to get along fairly well with the cats, though there was not much affection on either side. Whenever he saw one of them drinking milk from a saucer, he liked to come up softly from behind and nip its heels, and then scuttle off to some place of concealment in time to escape punishment. He often persisted in this amusement until the cats retired in disgust, whereupon he would proceed to help himself to the milk they had left. If he felt sleepy, he would sit upright, letting his head hang down until his nose almost reached his hind feet, and then drop over on one side, rolled up into a perfect ball. Late in the season, he began to make extensive tunnels about the doorsteps and underneath the paths, the caving in of which was the cause of several mishaps to various members of the family. Although perfectly familiar, he was never affectionate, and towards the close of summer he left us for his native heath; and the rest of his history is hidden in obscurity, though it is safe to assume that he lived to grow up and eventually developed all the selfish and bearlike traits characteristic of his family.