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A Crazy Groundhog Lived on My Roof

MizBejabbers has been a professional writer/editor for all of her adult life. Before that, she was just a little girl storyteller.

I'll show the suckers who's boss!


Yes, you read that right!

A groundhog set up housekeeping on my roof.

She dug herself a huge burrow and had a litter of babies that are now plaguing us. If you haven’t been following my other articles, I live in an underground house on a hilltop overlooking the Arkansas River. We get all kinds of interesting things going on up here, spiders living in litterboxes, groundhogs on roofs, turtles falling into the atrium just to name a few. Yes, before you ask, we mow the roof.

It all started when I noticed a large hole dug in the dirt covering one of the domes that compose my house. The location is on one side of the dome, so this dirt is no more than 2 feet deep. I warned the lawn boy to be careful to not fall into the hole and break a leg while mowing the grass on the roof. We speculated over what kind of animal made the hole and decided that it was a groundhog. Moles don’t make holes that deep, and their tunnels are raised above the ground.

A few days later the hole had extended to beneath the flower bed. Later on in the summer, at least one-third of the flower bed was gone, and so were the flowers on one side. We have no idea what the groundhog did with the dirt, but she probably ate the tulip bulbs.

The flowerbed was pretty

The burrow is right in front of the tulips -- or where they were in 2015 BG (Before Groundhog). Yes, this is my roof.

The burrow is right in front of the tulips -- or where they were in 2015 BG (Before Groundhog). Yes, this is my roof.

Groundhog's gotta go!

“I’m goin’ to kill that damned groundhog, she’s just doing too much damage,” my husband spouted. He went on to describe that she was probably pregnant and that there would be chucklings* that would add to the damage.

“No,” I protested, “you can’t kill her. She’s a living animal.”

“A living animal that needs to be dead,” He shouted back at me.

She survived, and today if I had it to do over, I might agree with him. Whether I won the argument or not, or whether he couldn’t catch her out of the den, I don’t know, but I think it was the latter.

Surprising behavior

One nice warm summer evening, and I might add, daylight savings time, I drove in after a very satisfying Saturday of shopping, and there sat a big fat gray animal on the roof just a few feet from the railing that keeps animals like her from falling in (See photo). At first I wasn’t sure what it was. The only groundhogs I’d ever seen were not solid gray. When I was a child, a friend’s parents used a groundhog pelt the color of a raccoon or a tabby cat for a rug in their bedroom. But still, I reasoned that the animal nonchalantly sitting on the roof must be the groundhog.

Since I drive a Prius hybrid that noiselessly glides into the driveway, she was not frightened by the noise, or at least I thought that was why she didn’t run. I sat dumbfounded for a few moments, which probably wasn’t as long as it seemed to me. She looked at me and did not move a hair. I wasn't very far away, but I couldn’t read the expression on her face (do groundhogs have expressions?). Her body language was another story. She went from nonchalance to insolence in a heartbeat. “This is my home, and I’m not budging,” she made her point quite well.

This was a photo op I could not miss. As I fumbled for my purse to retrieve my smart phone to get the picture, my husband came rumbling up in his noisy Dodge Ram. I figured that the noise would scare her off, but low and behold, she gave me a most insolent look and started a slow amble toward her hole. Then she stopped and glared at me, and I would swear on a stack of Bibles that she was daring me to try to run her off. I’m just glad she didn’t have a pistol, or she might have pulled it out and shot me.


Not your garden variety behavior

Field biologists report that groundhogs may hide when they see, smell or hear the observer. Matilda's behavior was not typical.

Anyway, she turned back, finished the walk to her burrow and disappeared inside. I was surprised because when Mr. B got out of the truck, I thought she would tuck tail and run, but she didn’t. Every step was a study in dignity. It was then I named her Matilda. All dignified animals gotta have a name.

I was flabbergasted! “Did you see that?” I asked.

“Yes, I saw that #$%^ animal. I wish I’d had my gun,” he grumbled. Every time Matilda was mentioned around our house, his reaction was the same. Not thinking about the chucklings, I agreed that he could trap Matilda and carry her to a new home at least 20 miles away. But lucky for Matilda and unlucky for us, our live animal trap was too small for an animal as large as Matilda to crawl inside.

Gray groundhog


I can assume only that Matilda raised her chucklings undisturbed by the local cats and dogs, including the two little yappers that live across the street. Heck, she could have eaten them for dinner had she been so inclined.

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We’d more or less forgotten about the groundhogs until one August evening I pulled into the driveway just in time to see one of the little ones come over the rooftop. As soon as it saw my car, it doubled back on itself, just like in the cartoons, and disappeared back the way it came. I had no idea that groundhogs could move so fast. We sighted a chuckling or two a few times after that incident, but unlike their mother, they were skittish. Then with the onset of winter we forgot about them.

Back of my underground house

Groundhog's new home under the greenhouse (on right)

Groundhog's new home under the greenhouse (on right)

Hole dug in the dry dirt

Hole dug in the dry dirt