PeeWee died today; there was no other choice. He died because he had to. Even Sabrina, with all her art and God-given instincts as a rehabber could not save him. Sabrina and I loved him; we raised him, but the most painful responsibility a wildlife rehabilitator has is to decide when a creature in our care cannot live the life it was intended by God to live.
PeeWee was a groundhog bought to us in a group of six small siblings. We hand-fed them, watched for illness, evaluated their maturation and smelled them. Yes, smelled them. As groundhogs approach maturity, they begin to exude a pungent, garlicky smell. We awaited the day they would be old enough, healthy enough to be put in an enclosed outdoor cage filled with dirt to prepare them for their eventual release into the wild. Release is not a decision to be taken lightly.
The weeks rolled by, and it came time to set PeeWee [who by this time belied his name by growing into one of the two biggest g-hogs] and his mates in an outside enclosure filled with dirt so they could begin to burrow.
Shortly thereafter we took in an orphaned baby groundhog. ‘Herbie’ stayed in his little box in a cage inside our ‘animal room.’ He would eat and cower; that was pretty much his life for three days. But the clock was ticking for him. How to join him with a group that doesn’t know him?
Courage comes more easily to a group than an individual.
But what would happen if we decided to release him in the outside cage with the others, and deep in one of the burrows, one of the older individuals turned on him? That encounter would be brief and lethal.
We fretted over this conundrum. We would soon have to do something, and Herbie’s life and safety pivoted on our decision.
One day, while all this was playing out, Sabrina came running into the house. “Quick, get the wire cutters! PeeWee’s caught in the cage fencing!” We cut him free; he dropped no more than a foot to the dirt floor of the out-door cage and headed off to the burrows. Was he limping slightly?
For the next several days, all seemed well. PeeWee limped a bit but, unlike his brothers who ran off, he would come to me, stand up on the side of the cage for a head-scratch [from me], a nip and chuck [from him.]
But two days later he appeared at our back door limping badly. We figured: a few days of ‘cage-rest’, he would be better. He didn’t seem to be in pain, but animals hide pain well, so we were not convinced. We took a chance and introduced him to Herbie.
It was love at first sight. They played together, ate together, fought together and slept together. Herbie was coming out of his shell. He had a surrogate parent; someone to teach him how to be a groundhog.
Little Herbie did well; PeeWee did not. By subtle degrees, his leg grew more useless, more rigid. Something was wrong.
This morning we found Herbie lying across the sleeping body of his new friend. Groundhogs are very solicitous of one of their own who is ill or injured.
Sabrina knew something had to be done. She drove him to The Wildlife Center in Waynesboro, had him evaluated. Shattered left shoulder; healing out of line. No surgical remedy. PeeWee would never climb or dig or run again. He was ‘put down.’
There was no other choice.
But this story, like life itself, moves ever forward. Herbie had benefited enormously from his fore-shortened friendship with PeeWee. Sabrina and I determined it was time to put Herbie out with the others. It was then we learned of PeeWee’s final gift to Herbie. We put Herbie nervously in the cage and two older groundhogs immediately came out of the burrow. There was immediate chucking and nipping and all-around good groundhog fellowship. Herbie ran into the burrow system, and over the last week, appears to be prospering.
The gift? In the three days they spent together, playing, eating and sleeping together, Herbie had been saturated with PeeWee’s garlicky smell, and an odor to an animal is like a fingerprint; distinctive; one per individual. Herbie bore the unmistakable identity of their leader, and as such, was immediately adopted.
Thank you, PeeWee. We miss you…
