I wish I could lend you my old dog Susy, who I had when I was a boy back in the 1960s.
That dog was an expert at killing groundhogs. When she spotted one, she would watch it for a while, and look for it’s den hole. As soon as she found it, she would run at top speed—not at the wood chuck, but for the hole. A wood chuck, when sensing danger, ALWAYS runs to its hole.
Susy wasn’t a big dog, about beagle size, but she would time her run so she intercepted the groundhog right before it reached the hole, and send it sprawling ass over teakettle, as it were, without stopping. Then she’d wheel around to the stunned beast and give it the coup de grace.
Growing up in the country, I liked nothing better than to hike and explore around the forested hills and grassy fields, and she’d always tag along. I’ve seen her kill dozen of ground hogs this way.
Only two times were then any problems:
One time, she went after the biggest dang wood chuck I had ever seen; almost her size. It recovered enough to fight her, and took a good chunk out of her ear. The hog then ran UP a tree; something I had never seen before. Well, I, like a fool, knocked it out with a stick, and Suzy once again tore into it, but she was losing! I had to use the same stick to wallop the chuck, again and again, until it was dead. I was only around 8 years old, and I felt really bad, but seeing my dog’s happy, victorious face, covered in her and the wood chuck’s blood, made up for it. She seemed to be saying, “Master, you and I hunted and killed TOGETHER! Way to go, young human! I’ve taught you well!”
The other time was funny but to me worse. One morning we were out walking in a large hayfield, just at first dim light, and the grass was very tall, up to my chin in some places. Well, I couldn’t see the dog in the high growth, but I could hear her. Suddenly something ran by my feet, and she was in hot pursuit! It was a dang skunk, and she hit him sprawling it right into me! I still remember actually seeing his spray in that dim light; it was greenish-yellow, and I was drenched in it! The dog hardly got any on her, while I had to have my clothes thrown out in the woods, and my mother made we take a bath in tomato juice. My Dad was angry because he had to spend money on ten large quart sized cans. Ever since the smell of skunk spray makes me gag.
I loved that dog; wish I could lend her to you for your chuck problem!
Those are great stories, and I can imagine how proud that dog must have been with each kill! It was funny to read your account, after I complained to a co-worker (my other co-worker lent me a trap!) he pulled out his phone and showed me two pictures of his dog with dead groundhogs!
I suspect dogs get the measure of a groundhog pretty quickly!