BLACK GROUNDHOG

Here's something you don't see every day…a black groundhog! I've only ever seen one other black-furred woodchuck—and that occasion, several years ago, afforded merely a fleeting, drive-by glimpse at some distance.

Like spontaneous magic, this amazing individual simply appeared in my yard the other morning, pausing no more than ten feet beyond the window! I was truly flabbergasted!

The expected coat coloration for groundhogs is a basic, run-of-the-mill brown. Black-furred wild critters are few and far between here in Ohio. A few black squirrels in small colonies scattered throughout the state—though none anywhere near my southwestern bailiwick. And in Ohio's Appalachian foothill regions—miles away from these pastoral precincts—you might spot one of the handful of black bears who call the Buckeye State home.

Otherwise, the only black mammals you'll see are wandering cats and dogs. My visitor was a genetic anomaly—an atypical, dressed-in-sable, melanistic-phase whistle-pig!

Melanism is an overdevelopment of the dark-colored pigment—melanin—in fur, skin, feathers, or scales. It's the opposite of albinism, which is a lack of color pigment, and can occur in any animal, including birds and reptiles. Those classy-looking black squirrels are really melanistic-phase gray squirrels—a fairly common occurrence. 

Over the years I've seen any number of melanistic-phase animals, including various hawks, whitetail deer, raccoons, and foxes. But when it comes to groundhogs, I'm told melanism is extremely rare. 

I'm fortunate such a unique creature came my way—and glad I can share this singular treat.

–––––––    

Nothing gets rid of winter's last lingering bits like a good day's worth of vigorous spring house-cleaning…and that's exactly what this groundhog was doing when I spotted his roadside burrow. Much to the homeowner's obvious vexation, I paused long enough to study how the sprucing-up was coming along,  plus snap a photo of him and his handiwork.

A mound of fresh-dug earth had been removed from his snug under-the-tree tunnel home and formed into a sort of front-door hump. This acts as a soft, cool, shady porch on which ol' woodchuck can loll on sunny days, comfortably and safely surveying the comings and goings within the precincts of his immediate domain. It also acts as a protective shield, and helps hide the hole's mouth from the casual view of any carnivorous passersby who might consider whistle-pig a tasty meal.

Excess soil was pushed over and down the slope. Before long they'll darken to match the rest of exposed earth, while grass and weeds will begin growing in these tailings, adding to the entryway's camouflage.

What's more, this roadside home seems to be located in an apparently coveted neighborhood. Twenty feet away, on the same bank, another groundhog was busy at his hole…and thirty feet from that one, a third ardently worked the dirt at the entrance to his home.

Considering how territorial groundhogs usually are, I don't think this cheek-to-jowl neighborliness will endure through the summer—though time will tell.