There’s somebody under the shed.
There’s been a hole under the shed in my garden forever, and occasionally a cat would squeeze in to explore it. That’s right: squeeze in, even smallish cats had to squeeze — it wasn’t a big hole. Probably the cats were trying to find a way into the shed, where they must have known there were field mice living, or maybe the shed appeared to them like a very big box, and they definitely needed into that.
I’d wondered on occasion, recently, if the hole under the shed had got bigger, but didn’t think much more of it except to wonder if I was going to find myself laden with an armful of kittens.
But then, a few weeks ago — about the same week I started actually making sure that the birds’ water dish was full and clean each day, which might be relevant — I noticed a large pile of poop close to the fence, not far from the hole under the shed. Cats poop in my garden quite often, oh yes they do, but this wasn’t cat poop unless they really have started reintroducing lynx to Scotland. And when cats poop in the garden, they prefer the longer grass where they can make a pretence of it being hidden away. This, however, was poop in plain sight. In fact, it looked like it was very consciously deposited in a hole in the ground that, come to think of it, I couldn’t remember digging.
I scurried back inside and asked the internet. Did foxes poop in holes? It seemed the most plausible explanation, but the internet didn’t seem to think they did. So I started looking through a post on recognising British wildlife from its poop, and that’s when things took a very unexpected turn indeed.
“I think this is probably really far-fetched,” I wrote to the relevant organisation that evening “but I’ve found a pile of poop in my garden … and …” The response I got assured me that no, this was not far-fetched: there could well be a badger pooping in my garden in Airdrie.
I provided pictures of the poop, in its neat little custom-excavated pit, and of the hole under the shed. This did indeed look like badger dung, I was informed — and look, you can see how someone has been dragging old grass cuttings into the hole to make themselves comfy.
Since then, I’ve found a partial paw-print, and several snuffle holes where my new neighbour has been excavating for worms, or more probably, my bulbs. I’ve been assured that generally, when badgers crash in gardens, it’s normally only for a few weeks or so. In fact, the pooping did seem to stop only a few days after the culprit was identified, but lo, a week or so later fresh poop appeared, along with new snuffle holes.
It will surprise no-one that I wanted my garden to be a place where wildlife and myself could co-exist in harmony. I thought this meant keeping the bird-feeders stocked, leaving plenty of hedge for the sparrows, letting the mice hibernate in peace. Never in a million years did I think it would involve a badger. And now, I think I have every right to declare my garden a true Wildlife Garden, and to retire to my sun lounger with a glass of something cold to celebrate.
But when I do, I shall do so very quietly, because there’s somebody under the shed.
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Cultures of Peace 