CIRCUIT OF THE SUMMER HILLS 



October, no Indian summer for him; he has had 

 his day. 



Though the woodchuck's muscles are flabby, his 

 heart is stout. The farm-dog can kill him, but he 

 cannot make him show fear or dismay; he is game 

 to the last. Twice I have seen him from my porch 

 at Woodchuck Lodge put on so bold a front and 

 become so aggressive, when surprised in the middle 

 of a field by a big shepherd-dog, that the dog did 

 not dare attack him, but circled about, seeking some 

 unfair advantage, only to be met at every point 

 with those threatening, grating teeth. The wood- 

 chuck was far from his hole, and he kept charging 

 the dog and driving him nearer and nearer the stone 

 wall, where his own safety lay. An observer inocu- 

 lated with the idea of animal reason would have said 

 that the tactics of the 'chuck were premeditated; 

 but I am sure he was too much engrossed with the 

 task of defending himself from the jaws of that dog 

 to do any logical thinking or planning. It was only 

 the fortune of battle that finally brought the hunter 

 and the hunted near the hole of safety, when, seeing 

 his chance, the woodchuck made a sudden, success- 

 ful dash, too hurried, I fancy, even to whistle his 

 usual note of defiance. In the other case, the dog 

 was of a still more timid nature, and when the sur- 

 prised woodchuck showed fight, he concluded that 

 he had no business at all with that particular 'chuck, 

 which actually chased him from the meadow. I can 

 29 



