We have groundhogs. For a while we've noticed large holes/tunnels under our porch, and commented idly, "Huh. It looks like something's living under there." And several weeks ago, while Andrew was out of town, I was sitting in the living room and smelled skunk so strongly I was convinced a skunk was inside the house. Last week, walking around the house with a landscaper who's going to work on our backyard, the landscaper saw the holes/tunnels, announced we had groundhogs, and gave us the card for a wildlife control company.
Today, a wildlife guy came over and confirmed it. We have groundhogs. A lot of them. The skunk I smelled was probably startled by one of them. He won't kill them, but we paid a hefty fee for his services: constructing metal barriers underground all along the porch, putting in a one-way door that the groundhogs can use as they emerge to find food and water, and then returning to seal up that door once all the groundhogs are gone. They're being evicted.
Greta was very alarmed by the idea of groundhogs, almost insulted that they'd be in our yard. But the wildlife guy won her over immediately, presenting her with a small toy skunk when he arrived, as well as a chapstick. I feel bad for the little groundhogs, but the spectre of massive flea and tick infestations is enough to make me certain they need to find another home. Ah, homeownership.
An aside: earlier today, while Lucia was at school, Greta finally learned how to pedal a bike. She rode up and down on the street in front of our house, pleased as punch. Little miss!