His jaws worked each mouthful as he hungrily tore into each new tuft. This was one hungry guy — though from the looks of him he hadn't missed too many meals.
Groundhogs are always bigger than I think they're going to be. Good-sized and galumphing. But this one wasn't budging. He had found a tasty patch of fescue and was going to eat it all or else.
After a few minutes I delicately eased by the guy — and that's when he sprang into action. He snapped around and assumed an attack position, crouched, teeth bared. I spoke to him quietly, told him I wasn't after his grass, just on a run.
When I turned back to look at him, he had gone back to his dinner.
A wild thing, observed.
(I'm fresh out of groundhog photos, but this is near where I saw him.)