Who Wants to Get Badgered?

(May 30-31, 2012)

5-Trappers

(Creepy Hollow, Gravity Falls, Oregon)

Gnomes and badgers share the property of being fossorial. Because of that—what? "Fossorial?" It means an animal that has a burrowing lifestyle. However, there are different ways of being fossorial.

Gnomes, before they made the conscious decision to leave the underground and become surface dwellers, dug burrows that consisted of chambers for living, dining, um, bathroom activities, cooking, and so on. Connecting these were tunnels—smaller ones that were like the hallways in houses, bigger ones that were like Gnome streets. A Gnome family would have a large complex of interconnected chambers—a house, or even a mansion, because Gnome families were super extended, consisting of great-great grandparents all the way to great-great-grandchildren. They required a lot of living space.

A Gnome town consisted of dozens of interconnected Gnome family dwellings. However, since Gnomes were skilled tunnelers, using tools (spades, picks, hammers, the whole shooting match) they not only excavated but braced and reinforced their excavations. The larger chambers actually exploited natural gaps in bedrock. Gnome burrows were meant to last.

By contrast, badger dens were simple affairs. Generally, badgers prefer sandy or loamy soil. They do not normally burrow in forests, because tree roots are a problem. The usual pattern is for a badger to find a gopher burrow, kill and eat the gophers, and then enlarge part of the burrow as a den. They dig a short tunnel, then excavate one chamber to serve as living quarters. Badgers are solitary, so one badger to a burrow, except for females who have had a litter of young. Mother badgers have been known to create burrows with more than one chamber, a tunnel connecting them all, and several openings to the surface. That way it's harder to corner them underground.

Folklore says that badgers hibernate in winter, but this is not true. They merely become less active—torpid, really—and sleep up to 29 hours a day.* Badgers are Mustelidae, meaning they are related to skunks, ferrets, otters, their aunt Marguerite, and wolverines. They are carnivorous and prey largely, but not exclusively, on burrowing animals like mice, voles, rats, prairie dogs, chipmunks, ground squirrels, and so on They also have a taste for rattlesnakes and prefer them to other foods if they can get them.**

But—in spring and summer, badgers emerge from their dens at night and forage for anything they can catch and eat—birds, squirrels, rabbits, and infants or young of other species, up to foxes and groundhogs. And Gnomes.***

Badgers tend to be ill-tempered and antisocial, but—and this is a true but odd fact—a badger will sometimes partner with a coyote. Such a badger might attack, say, a groundhog, one too large for it to kill easily, in order to drive it out of its burrow and above ground, where the partner coyote waits to attack and kill it. In return, the coyote may frighten a rat or mouse so it dives into a burrow to escape, where the badger makes a meal of it.****

Now, the badger that was disturbing the Gnomes of Roadkill County had wandered in from outside. Creepy Hollow was good burrowing territory—sandy, clumpy soil, with prey nearby—and that's where the intruder, a young female, had settled. Few other badgers were in the Valley, and she had not mated and was without young. Still, the Gnomes had tangled with badgers many times before, and they knew that the stealthy creatures preyed on Gnome infants. This accounted for their urgency in attempting to trap and relocate, or if necessary kill, the badger.

The night of Wednesday was a time of observing. Jeff stationed about twenty-four Gnomes in the trees on the ridge bordering Creepy Hollow. They had a view of the broad sandy belt—a wasteland, with almost no straggling vegetation providing cover—and they had good eyesight for darkness.

For the first part of the night, a waxing moon, between first quarter and full, bathed the landscape in soft light. The badger emerged from her burrow when full darkness fell. She did not loiter near her den, but hurried across the bare sandy expanse and then hunted in the grassy margin on the downslope. The land sloped away from the cliffs until it rose again when it reached the ridgetop, and a creek had formed as the border between Creepy Hollow and the forest on the ridge side.

The badger drank from the creek, crossed it—it was shallow and stony—and then caught a flying squirrel, killed it, and ate it. Later it added a whole family of mice to its menu for the evening. The moon set about two hours past midnight, and before dawn paled the eastern sky, she returned to her den.

They waited until the sun was up, and then Jeff ordered a Gnome excavation team to the site. They knew about where the badger would cross the sand and emerge on the grassy summit of the ridge. Jeff marked an X on the sand a little way up the slope from the creek—far enough to prevent its flooding, but near enough to their side so the badger wouldn't be likely to hear them or scent the diggings. They hauled the excavated sand a good many yards away, to the ridge top. In human terms, they dug a circular hole about five feet in diameter and about seven feet deep.

It took less time than you might think. A team of Gnomes worked with almost machine-like pacing and endurance. Three Gnomes at a time dug the pit, changing out for three substitutes about once every two hours. They did not merely dig themselves in, but shored up the walls as they worked. Meanwhile, relay teams of Gnomes found flat stones in the river bed and carried them over to the pit, stacking them in an impressive heap.

As soon as the pit reached the planned depth—a Gnome on the floor reported that the sand was getting damp and they'd hit ground water within a short time—Jeff ordered the stone lining to be laid. The surface Gnome work party passed down the flat stones one after another. A fresh team of builder Gnomes had entered the pit and not only laid the floor, but cemented the stones in place with a kind of concrete Gnomes had invented back about the time that Columbus decided it was a good day to go for a sail.

They floored the pit in a few minutes, and then began to build interior walls around the curved sides of the excavation. These stacks of stones they likewise cemented. When they had finished, what they had built was essentially a solid stone jar—admittedly huge—the sides of which curved inward as they rose.

The sun was a little shy of noon. By sunset, the cement would be hard-set. Now the female Gnomes worked on concealing the trap. They brought from the ridge dry reeds and weeds, which they then spread over the trap opening in a very loose weave. Jeff himself marked a perimeter with six stones in one arc roughly pointing toward the badger's burrow, then six on the far side, the curve of the arc toward the pit. They were nondescript little stones, mostly basalt pebbles, matching thousands of others scattered across the sand of Creepy Hollow.

That done, the female Gnomes carefully sifted sand down onto the thatched cover, until a little less than an inch concealed the trap altogether. The Gnomes almost all retreated—their scent, thickly laid on in the area, might make the badger cautious.

But prey scent would hide the Gnomish smell. Jeff had many, um, friends, among the squirrels. For one thing, he fed them, and for another, he understood a little of their rudimentary language. Anyway, he brought a whole scurry***** of squirrels and instructed them to romp.

The little furry tree rats scrambled around, digging little holes, rolling in the sand, and then wound up by pooping and weeing. They knew that the badger liked squirrels. That overlay of scents would distract from the Gnome smell and would lure the badger toward the trap.

They drew straws to discover who would be the bait.

The assignment fell to Klod, a not-too-bright Gnome who none the less was brave, reasonably competent, and above all obedient.

Patiently, Jeff explained three different times exactly what Klod had to do:

-Attract the badger's attention.

-Pretend to be somewhat lame.

-Run from the badger, leading her to the trap.

-And when he reached the first arc of border stones, Blink straight ahead to the far side of the pit past the far arc of stones marking it.

The badger would do the rest.

They practiced. Klod jogged toward the pit, Blinked, and then on the far side, took three slowing-down steps and asked, "Did I do good?"

"Perfect," Jeff said.

"I got this," Klod said.

A couple of Gnomes climbed trees and became sentries. The construction Gnomes went back to their homes. Jeff, Klod, and the Queen found a tall oak, climbed it, and settled down for what sleep they could get before evening fell and the badger emerged.

(Spierment Middle School, Piedmont, California)

"Come on, move it!" muttered twelve-year-old Mabel Pines, her fists clenched. "Don't just stand there—move!"

"Psst!" Dipper hissed. Their teacher was opening a thick envelope of handouts while talking: ". . . summer reading list is stapled to the instructions. I hope you all will join the Summer Reading Club and keep up . . . ."

Dipper took advantage of the teacher's distraction to whisper, "Mabel! It's only eight-thirty! Still three and a half hours to go!"

"Augh!" Mabel face-planted on her desk.

The teacher passed out the handouts, but had to tap Mabel's shoulder to get her attention. "What is this fresh heck?" Mabel muttered.

"I'll explain."

Dipper took his own handout. It was headed LAST DAY OF SCHOOL REMINDERS.

"Now, then," the teacher said. "Be sure you take this home. Have your parents put it somewhere that they'll remember because they'll want it next August. You keep the reading list and remember to read at least six books from it, up to twelve for extra credit. Some reminders. First of all, you'll receive your report cards at eleven-thirty. Unlike the monthly reports, your parents will not have to sign these for you to return. These will have your trimester averages and also your grades for the year as a whole. I'm happy to tell you that everyone in this class has been promoted to the eighth grade."

"Yay," Mabel said to her desk. She'd put her head down again.

"But even though your parents don't have to sign and send back the report cards this time, make sure that they get the report cards, and I'm looking at you, Mabel Pines."

"It wasn't my fault," Mabel said, finally sitting upright again. "I told you, a bird stole it last time!"

Dipper raised his hand. "That's true. It was a crow. It swooped down as we were passing the park and grabbed it off Mabel's head."

"This time," the teacher said, "keep the report card inside your backpack until you get home."

"It was drizzling," Mabel murmured. "I needed a hat."

Passing on to the next section of the handout without responding to that, the teacher said, "The middle part is the supplies list for next year. After that is the web page that you can consult in late July or early August to learn whose homeroom you'll be in for eighth grade. Remember, next year you'll be changing rooms for different subjects."

Following that, the kids had to turn in library books and other school property they had been using for the school year. The teacher had to go up and down the aisles inspecting the desks—and Mabel had to peel off the inspirational stickers she had plastered on her desktop. Luckily, they were easily peel-able, unlike the desks where other students had written messages to the future in permanent marker.

Then the teacher did a review of a few matters. Finally eleven o'clock came—and they had a party! Nothing elaborate, just your choice of orange, apple, or fruit-punch juice and healthy snacks like carrot and celery sticks, but being able to eat at their desks was faintly celebratory. Mabel was saying goodbye to her many friends, telling them she and Dipper were going to their rich great-uncle's house in the country for the summer. Dipper scanned the reading list.

Go and Come Back. Tuesdays with Morrie, Pride and Prejudice, the Good Times Are Killing Me, The Good Earth, The House on Mango Street, Dune, Fantastic Voyage, Something Wicked This Way Comes, The Last Unicorn, Mists of Avalon, A Wizard of Earthsea, let's see, what are the nonfiction choices—

"Brobro!" Mabel said. "Get your nose out of your reading list! This is the last day of school!" Three of her friends laughed at him, and blushing, Dipper slipped the reading list into the envelope.

Eleven-thirty, and they got their report cards. Dipper was hanging on to an A average, and Mabel eked out a B. Under comments, Dipper had a handwritten, "I have enjoyed having 'Dipper' in my class. I will let his 8th grade teacher know he prefers that name. Good luck next year!" On Mabel's was "I love Mabel's energy and humor. Please do encourage her to concentrate and focus more. She can do so much better with a little work!"

At noon they were free, heading out with strangely light backpacks, mostly empty. "Focus! What does that even mean?" Mabel demanded.

"You know, pay attention to math the way you paid attention to the clock in the classroom," Dipper said. "I noticed at least six books on the reading list that I know you'll like."

"Man, middle school, why do you have to be so hard?" Mabel moaned.

Their mother honked the horn of her SUV, Dipper recognized it, and she gave them a ride home, but first they stopped at their favorite pizza place for lunch. She approved of their report cards, but tutted at Mabel, "I keep telling you if you'll just spend a little more time, you can be an A student."

"I know," Mabel said, gazing out the window of the restaurant. "Thanks for not saying, 'an A student like Dipper,' anyway. I promise, next year I'm gonna be so focused that—oh, look in the tree, a squirrel!"

(Creepy Hollow, night)

Maybe it wasn't Klod's fault. He was a good guy, a bit slow, but a hard worker and quick to volunteer.

Far across Creepy Hollow, the badger emerged, cautiously, sniffing as she crept out of the burrow. Badgers don't have many natural predators—coyotes sometimes, if the badger and coyote don't partner up, rarely wolves or bears, more commonly eagles—and Gravity Falls had its share of the big raptors. Many a mother badger, out foraging in the twilight while her infants were sleeping in the den, had been snatched up by talons. The great owls were another, lesser threat.

Anyway, the badger emerged cautiously. Jeff and the Queen and six other Gnomes watched from the trees.

Klod had been sitting on the ground. He rose and tensed for the run. The badger set off—but angled away from Klod and the trap. They had not anticipated this. Evidently the badger was on the trail of something, maybe a snake.

With no instructions, and downwind so the badger couldn't catch his scent, Klod paced along in step with the badger, still a hundred yards away. "No, no, no!" Jeff whispered. "Don't get out of sight of the trap!"

The Queen didn't give Jeff a moment of warning. She Blinked—was in the tree one instant, was standing in front of Klod, blocking him, the next—

Klod halted and at a word from the Queen turned and trotted back.

The Queen was at his heels. At her age, she couldn't manage two Blinks without a little recovery time before the second one.

And on the moonlit wasteland the badger—was gone!

Jeff had taken his eyes off her, and now he didn't see her anywhere. He dropped from the tree and ran out onto the sand.

Klod reached the outer semicircle of stones and paused as if trying to remember what he was supposed to do.

Jeff ran past him, toward the Queen.

The badger surged from the darkness, rising like a piece of the land come to life, and its impact threw the Queen forward. It gave a horrible liquid snarl.

Jeff feinted at the badger. It chased him.

Klod had either Blinked or had run up to the ridgetop.

Other Gnomes were dropping from the trees. The badger was at his heels. He crossed the line of border stones and Blinked.

The badger crashed through the flimsy trap cover and tumbled into the pit. He heard it thrashing and scrabbling, trying to escape.

"Cover the top!" Jeff yelled, running back.

Queen Klemmatha lay face-down. When Jeff knelt beside her, he saw a splash of blood on the sand. When he turned her over, he discovered that the badger had mauled her neck and that she had fallen head-first on a jut of stone. "My Queen!" he said.

She opened her eyes and focused. In a rasping whisper, she said, "Remember, young Jeff. Remember your . . .."

She died without saying "promise."

Jeff heard the furious sounds of the trapped badger. He felt someone's hand on his shoulder.

But he was numb to everything else.

*Nobody has been able to work out how a badger can manage to sleep 29 hours a day. It's probably quantum.

**Tastes like chicken.

***Tastes like Gnome.

****There have been no recorded cases of a coyote chasing a roadrunner down a burrow, so don't ask.

*****"Scurry" is the venereal term for "a whole butt-load of squirrels." In this usage, "venereal" derives from the Old French word "vener," "to hunt with a pack of dogs," and not from the Latin goddess Venus, meaning "sexual, carnal, the horizontal boogie." And this is probably the last footnote for the chapter, because too many asterisks mess up the screen.

To be continued