There are a number of reasons to make this "Groundhog" post:
1. It's Groundhog Week.
Our famous friend Ben "Fogspinner" Hughes
dislodged Phil from his burrow
early on Groundhog Day this past Monday morning.
Phil saw his shadow,
implying there will be six more weeks of winter.
Sorry, folks.
2. I've been going through some of my mom's papers
and found a paper titled "Groundhog Dog"
that Dad had written at Mom's urging.
My mom really
really
really
really wanted to be a published writer herself,
but instead her legacy is her students,
a few of whom were published due to her encouragement.
Perhaps she would have appreciated blogging.
3. This month marks the sixth anniversary of my Dad's death.
4. With the current economic conditions,
you may find this information useful....
"Groundhog Dog"
Today when I talk to people about a groundhog dog they wonder, of course, if I haven't slipped a few gears. Everyone has heard about rabbit, coon, bird, and even deer and bear dogs, but groundhog?
During the Great Depression of the thirties (I never did understand why they called it "great") my father made a living at the barber trade. I can remember haircuts were twenty-five cents and a shave was fifteen cents. We rented a small three bedroom home in DuBois for $18.75 per month. One of our main staples was groundhog. Not many people eat groundhog today, but during the depression a lot were consumed with great relish. My mother would cold pack the small pigs that my father would carry home and in the winter the sweet aroma would fill the house and could make the mouth of a king water.
In order to supply this sweet meat to feed three sons and a wife, my dad used a groundhog dog. Fanny was the name of this black and tan, airdale, and other various breeds crossed to make a lovable dog that was death on groundhogs.
Saturday always seemed to be the day we would take to the field in search of whistle pigs. My older brother brother carried the small mattock. My job was to carry the T-pipe used to follow the holes, and Dad had the Colt Woodsman 22 pistol. Fanny would run the fields in search of a hog away from his den. If she found one above ground she would move in to cut the retreating groundhog from its hole. Then the fight began. I would like to say Fanny never lost a battle--I can't, because she lost many a battle but won most of the wars. Her black muzzle was scored from many fights, but when she got the pig behind the neck there was a whole lot of shaking going on and we would have one for the pot.
During the heat of the day when most hogs were in the nice cool den, Fanny would go from one hole to another looking for an occupied den. When one was found she would start to dig. This was the signal for dad to call in the Rensel reserves. Dad would get a long stick and shove it deep into the den hole to see the direction it was taking and he always left the stick in place. He would then take the T-pipe I had been carrying and shove it into the ground looking for the hole. When he could feel the pipe drop through the underground run we would start to dig. Once we had the run uncovered, another long stick would be placed into our new excavation to check directions and again dad would push the pipe into the ground to find the run. We could dig as many as five holes until we had the groundhog trapped between our manmade holes. I forgot to give the job descriptions: Jack and I did the digging and it was my father's job to watch the sticks. When a stick would start to wiggle he knew the hog was crawling to that entrance. Out the gray grizzled head of the pig would come to be met by a 22 hollow point from my father's Colt Woodsman. After dad cleaned he chuck, we would fill in all the holes and move on to follow the dog to the next hole.
I think the record for a day was twenty-one groundhogs, but most days were six to eight. In the evening they would be cleaned and cut up to fit the quart jars mom used to can. During those days most people had an ice box so the meat could not be kept long if it were not canned.
The education I received from these many outings was great: for instance, a metal pipe will conduct electricity, a physics lesson I learned when crossing an electric fence and holding the T-pipe too low. I would like to say it was a shocking experience, but I guess I'll pass that pun. I can remember the biology lesson we learned when Fanny had us dig out a skunk. I escaped the spray but Fanny and brother Jack rode home in the rumble seat of the Model B Ford coupe.
I'm sure Fanny was not the only groundhog dog in Pennsylvania in 1938 but I thought she was the greatest. I would not trade my memories of these Saturday Safaris for the world. My dad always said he would not live anywhere but Pennsylvania and I'm very blessed to have had a father that shared his love for the state and groundhog dogs with me.
written by Bill Rensel
October 1931-February 2003
