Looking out the back window while I'm making my coffee I see two of the little bastards helping themselves to my tomatoes so I get the shotgun out of the closet, run in the living room and rifle through the ammo safe for a couple of shells and sneak out the back door. My granddaughter follows me out:
"Are you going to shoot them?"I'm gonna try.Will there be blood?I hope so.Lot's of blood?I hope so. Go inside."
She comes out a little while later wearing surgical gloves and carrying a pair for me. Strange kid. She's obsessed with puppies (they're so cute) so I kind of figured she would be upset if she saw me blasting a groundhog. I guess not. I didn't get it anyway. This is the same kid who checks out the reflection of the tv in the wardrobe mirror when she comes in the room to make sure I'm not watching something too scary. How the reflection is different from the real thing, I don't know. But it is.
So this year, it's Scripto -1 Groundhog Nation -1 since I live trapped one this morning and took him out of town on my way to work. Technically, relocating them is illegal. Rabid groundhogs or, more likely, rabid farmers, I suppose. Anyway, I was running late and I couldn't be bothered to gather up pistol and groundhog both. I never have much luck opening the cage and getting a shot off before the varmint runs away so I usually don't bother. In all the excitement I could see shooting myself in the foot. Some things would be hard to live down around here. The only thing worse would be caught fucking a turkey. I think that guy had to move away.