Wait, what about that device that fills the burrows with a mixture of propane and oxygen that I posted about a few years ago? You know, the one that blew up the entire groundhog housing system. Damned if I can remember the name of it. It looked pretty cool, though - and very effective.
As well as what they do to defend against vultures…
I think drowning was bad. My CP mailing list comes to blows over drowning havahart squirrels every year.
A clean quick shot to the head would be the best way to kill a trapped animal.
Unless, of course, there is someone you don’t like who lives rather far away…
I have a groundhog story.
It’s nowhere near as good as Scylla’s. There is no lying, and worse, no groundhog death in it.
When I was in college, my father began researching our genealogy. He discovered that instead of two uncles and no aunts, he had sixteen uncles and aunts. Without counting any in-laws. Uncle Harold died before I got to meet him, but his widow, Aunt Jessie, lived out in northeast Arkansas. I went with my dad to visit her one summer.
When we arrived, Aunt Jessie mentioned that there was a groundhog getting into her shed, and would my dad take care of it? Absolutely, he said. Now, I heard this and assumed that a) the shed would be fixed, b) the groundhog would be discouraged, and maybe c) the groundhog would be trapped and relocated. These were the only possibilities in my universe.
That evening, Aunt Jessie looked out her window and said, “that critter’s out there.” My dad picked up a shotgun and headed out.
I followed him.
Jumping and waving my arms and demanding to know how he could possibly shoot and kill some poor, fuzzy-wuzzy groundhog that never hurt anyone. The groundhog, being sensible, took off as soon as I made a ruckus. Not that I had intended this, but I was vaguely pleased that I’d managed to thwart Groundhog Death.
My father looked at me and said, “your mother let you watch too many goddamn Disney movies.”
He went back in, disgusted. I followed. Aunt Jessie was already on the phone, calling her friends about her nephew’s citified daughter, who thought shooting groundhogs was mean.
I am never, ever going back to Arkansas.
Hey!
I’ve been to Plano. Lady.
Sorry, posted to wrong thread.
No, no, you misunderstand. Arkansas is lovely. I saw fireflies for the first time in years. I just can’t ever show my face there again.
I’ll have you know that was not just any average stuffed animal in The Last Boy Scout, Scylla, that was Furry Tom.
There are ways to keep out the hogs, you can roll like Shoko Asahara and gas the entire underground. You can put up an electric fence and leave poison gel baits down in their burrows. You can even totally nerd out and get those sonic repellants, they play Kelly Clarkson into the ground or something. As for cage killing: it’s just too, uh, Teutonic for me. As a guy who’s been in your shoes since he was 12, nothing beats the quick shot into that frickin’ rocky skull.
Regarding the OP, you probably don’t need any more anecdotes and you sure as hell don’t want absolution. Your daughter is going to tell this story someday and it will be sweet and it will take you back to where you sat, what you felt, the way her little voice sounded, everything. Keep right on prevaricating.
You’re evil, Scylla.
But you’re the classy suave James-Bond-supervillain kind of evil, so that’s okay. Good show. 
Yeah, talking to SCAN on the phone.