Woodchucks will nibble nearly any plant, but most of them are partial to vegetables, and at this time of year—it was April—the only place in Fred’s neighborhood where vegetables were readily available was the greenhouse across the meadow. Early in the morning, before the arrival of the gardener, this greenhouse was a very popular woodchuck gathering place. But Fred never went near it. He liked to sleep till nine, and besides, he hated exposing his fur to morning dew. Furthermore, he wasn’t crazy about mixing with others.
Still, the greenhouse was the obvious spot for wife-hunting, and after being plagued by his dream every night for over a week, Fred was desperate enough to try anything. He didn’t really want a mate, of course. But if he went through the motions of looking for one, maybe the nightmare would leave him alone and life would return to normal.
When the dream woke him for the tenth time, he dragged himself out of his cozy bed and up to his entrance mound. “You’ve lost your mind, Fred,” he said bluntly, staring into the chilly darkness. All he could make out was the white bark of a nearby birch tree. But he forced himself on, devising a greenhouse strategy as he felt his way along. If he spotted a potential wife there, he would go up to her and say, “Excuse me for disturbing you, but I was wondering if you could direct me to the beans . . .”
By the time Fred was halfway across the meadow, he was dew-drenched. But the sun was poking up over the horizon, and once he reached the greenhouse, he went over to the east side and positioned himself on a rock so that the sun’s rays hit his right side directly and bounced off the greenhouse glass to toast his left. When he was reasonably dry, he gave his fur a quick once-over and followed the scent of his fellow woodchucks behind a shrub and through a missing glass pane.
Though comfortably warm, the greenhouse was a bit humid for Fred’s taste. But as he made his way around some rather noxious-smelling marigolds, he spotted an attractive female woodchuck over by a row of peas.
“Excuse me for disturbing you,” he said, going up to her, “but I was wondering if you could direct me to the beans.”
The female looked surprised. “Why?”
“Well, I thought I might sample one.”
“But the beans are so stringy. Try one of these.” She held out a pawful of peas.
“Um, no thanks.” It was too early for breakfast, and besides, he liked to wash his food before eating it.
“Oh, go on,” she said, popping a couple of peas into her mouth. “They’re yummy.”
She smiled as she chewed, to show how delicious they were. But all Fred saw was her pea-green teeth. She chewed with her mouth open!
He was so disgusted he slipped out of the greenhouse and went straight home. But that night the chill snuck back into his shoulder, and the same dream disturbed his slumber. So he went through the whole ordeal again: dragging himself out of bed and across the sodden meadow, drying himself on the rock, slipping into the muggy greenhouse.
This time he made his way over to the carrots. Carrots were said to be “brain food”; maybe there he would find a woodchuck intelligent enough to chew with her mouth closed. And, indeed, he saw a very appealing-looking female crouched among the carrot tops.
“Excuse me for disturbing you, but I was wondering if you could direct me to the beans.”
“Green, wax, or lima?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“Green, I guess,” he said, noting her sparkling teeth.
“I believe they’re over there, under the second-to-last sprinkler head.” She stood up on her hind legs and pointed—with the filthiest front paw he’d ever seen. Of course, she’d been digging for carrots, but still . . .
“That does it,” Fred muttered on the trek home. “No more getting up before dawn for this woodchuck.”
But the bad dream continued to haunt him, and he eventually resorted to giving the greenhouse a third try. This time he weaved his way into the far end, where the sugar beets grew. Turning between two rows of them, he spied a woodchuck with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. The closer he got, however, the clearer it was that she had a sweet tooth as well. She completely filled the furrow. In fact, she was over twice his size.
This distressing experience put him off the greenhouse for several days. But the dream persisted, and he ended up going back again and again. Every female he met was flawed. If she was a good conversationalist, her fur was every which way. If her fur was well-groomed, she didn’t take care of her teeth.
“It’s hopeless,” he finally decided. “I’ll just have to live with a chilly shoulder.” So he returned to his old routine of getting up at nine, eating a civilized breakfast, and cleaning house.
One day, while he was dusting, the striped snake burst into his living room. “Brown toad come through here?” the snake asked.
Fred shook his head, and the snake turned to leave. But instead of letting him go, as he usually would have, Fred cleared his throat and said, “Snake?”
“Yeah?”
“You get around, don’t you? I mean, over and under ground both.”
“True.”
“In your travels have you happened to notice any single females?”
“There’s a garter snake over by the bridge. But she’s too skinny for me. Besides, marriage is a fatal mistake.”
“Oh.” The snake coiled himself up and scratched his head with the end of his tail. “Single female woodchucks. I can think of at least a dozen.”
“Any you could recommend?”
The snake made a face.
“No?”
“It’s hard for me to judge, woodchuck. You’re all so furry, and you eat so much. And those shrill whistles. Other animals call you whistle pigs, you know.”
Fred, who never whistled, frowned. “Thanks anyway,” he said stiffly.
The snake uncoiled himself and headed for the bolt hole. But just before leaving he looked back.
“There is one with a nice smile.”
“She likes sugar beets, right?” Fred said, remembering the giantess.
“No, she never goes to that greenhouse. She hardly goes out at all. I believe she’s in mourning for her mother.”
“Do you know where she lives?” Fred asked. A woodchuck who skipped meals to mourn her mother sounded promising.
“Under the big stump.”
Fred thanked the snake for the tip and offered him a snack for the road. “A snail, perhaps?”
But the snake just made another face and slithered away.