When the hard frost melted, offering a drink to the drowsy daffodils resting at the edge of the farmer’s field, there awoke a noble groundhog named Phil.
His full name with title was Sir Philip Allowishus William Charles Wood III, Conqueror and Savior of the Forest, but everyone called him Phil, except on formal occasions.
Phil slowly stretched and began to shake out his matted fur from head to rump. Then, licking his paws, he set about the arduous task of grooming after his months-long nap. He had only begun to get that swirl on the top of his head just right when Tom scurried into the burrow.
“He’s begun again! The farmer is trying to start the tractor!” Tom squeaked. Phil froze, remembering the last time the tractor had worked.
It had been a grave and terrible spring last year when the farmer had decided to expand his fields, plowing up half an acre of the forest along the edge of the former field, including the blueberry and blackberry bushes, dandelions, and the lush, tall grasses that their families had relied upon for food and safety. To add insult to injury, the farmer had planted lavender. Alfalfa, corn, or even wheat would have at least supplied the families of the forest, but lavender—Yuk—no groundhog could eat lavender.
Phil knew what they needed to do.
“Follow me, Tom. You bring the stones, the sharpest you can find, and I’ll begin the digging.”
As the tractor rumbled to life, Phil tracked its path and observed its first pass. Calculating carefully, Phil dug six holes at precise angles, disguising their presence by the mounds of dirt already plowed. Tom dropped a few of the stones at the bottom of each hole. Then, the pair retreated to observe from a safe distance.
As it hit the first hole, the tractor bounced and dropped, landing hard in the next hole with the sharpest rocks. Momentum still on its side, the tractor lurched forward only to have its back tires find the other well placed craters, resulting in a metallic crack and hiss.
Groaning, the farmer stopped the tractor and slid off to survey the damage.
“The tie rod, again! I can’t believe it,” the farmer despaired. “That part took six weeks to come in last time!”
The clouds briefly parted. The noontime sun shone behind the groundhogs as they stood up on their hind legs to watch the farmer kick the broken machine.
“Our homes are safe again!” exclaimed Tom.
“Yes,” replied Phil, “at least for another six weeks.”
