Everywhere I look there are animal paths crisscrossing the garden, reminding me that this plot of earth isn’t “my” garden, it’s “our” garden.

The never-ending job of removing stones from the fertile soil is a reminder of the range of small critters dwelling there. Minute paths of worms, ants and other insects are often revealed during that task. Then there are the paths of larger animals. Foot trails of deer cross from one side of the road to the other, meander through the pasture and into the woods. Even the kitties have formed paths from the windows where they perch in the morning through flower beds and the leggy shaded grass to the front door where we let them into the house.

This week the entryway to an underground path in the garden was revealed. Yanking away at overgrown wormwood plants, I noticed a pile of red subsoil in among the 6-foot-tall silvery stems. Upon further examination, I discovered the cause of the discolored earth: A groundhog hole measuring 8 inches in diameter was carefully masked amid the stand of giant wormwood. A moment of surprise was succeeded by revelation, subsequently succeeded by several long minutes of dread. Make that hours. No, days. I’ve been preoccupied with this nasty news for some time.

I have noticed damage to many garden plants this year. The love-lies-bleeding and the celosia in particular had been defoliated down to stubby stems. I blamed the deer. Misguided me. The groundhog apparently was the culprit.

Many garden pests I can handle, accept, happily coexist with, even. But a gopher that savors the snapdragons, munches the mallow and harms the hollyhocks is most certainly unwanted in my garden.

The problem with groundhogs is that you never see them. They live clandestine lives, eating your most precious plants under the cloak of darkness and then giggling surreptitiously from the secluded protection of their underground tunnels. If you were to lean down and put your ear to those naughty little entrance holes I’m sure you’d hear maniacal laughter emanating up from the underground. They are sneaky furry little creatures that cause you to concoct wild (probably illegal) plans for their eradication.

“Dump mothballs down into his tunnel,” one neighbor recommended. Another said, “You have to find the other hole and then bomb him.” Not only do I have no idea where the “other hole” is, even with my ill-conceived notions of what I could do to the annoying varmint, when it comes right down to it I actually have a bit of a problem killing the poor critter. I just wish he’d go away. Is that too much to ask?

Probably it is. Several gardening references recommend fencing to exclude groundhogs from the garden. Illustrations for rather intensive underground and aboveground fencing look like they’d do the trick if your garden weren’t already habitat. Fencing can be constructed with chicken or aviary wire, they say. One must dig garden beds down to a depth of 18 inches and line the bottom and the sides with wire. Ugh. That sounds like an awful ordeal.

I’ve decided the best solution at this point is to hold my breath and pray that the uninvited guest finds more succulent feeding grounds outside of my garden. I’m hoping the “other hole” is a good half-mile down the road and that the furry beast finds better living down that way.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, RR1, Box 2120, Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@midcoast.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.