What's dead is dead....

I treed my first groundhog a couple days ago.  I was cutting flowers in our hoophouse and was walking back towards the driveway when I saw something scurry in our garden.  A big fat groundhog was gallumping its way towards the treeline, pausing every few seconds to peep over at me to see if I was still there and if I was a threat.  I kind of just stared at it in disbelief, while all the things I knew it could've been munching on were whirring through my mind, all the time spent seeding, weeding, planting and planning, the hardship some of our overwintered goodies have endured, all to be eaten by a big fat groundhog who just happened to carouse into our garden on a warm sunny day to look for a full belly.  I quickly decided to run after him in the hopes of seeing where his den was, and after a few feints this way and that, he made the fatal decision to go up a tree.  I yelled and yelled for Stuart to come to my rescue, darting back to the truck 150 ft away to honk the horn, a desperate honkhonkhonkhooonkkkkk and a yell at the top of my lungs, and then a dart back to lock eyes with the pig-rat in the tree.  Stuart was probably 200 yards away, shaking his booty to who knows what in the greenhouse while doing some transplants.  I knew his music drowned my yells, but for some reason I kept yelling and honking the horn with blasphemies and curses in between the yells.  Finally I had to leave the treed land-beaver to drive down to the greenhouse to pick up Stuart, who, only when I was fifteen ft away honking the horn, decided to turn around and see the frenzied state I was in.  We rushed back up the driveway (Stuart:  "You'd kill me if I drove like this", "what has gotten into you?") and YES!  The groundhog was waiting, having been petrified by my wails, breathing some of his last breaths very heavily.  We decided the best course of action would be to ask our heroic neighbor Bernard to come over and shoot the beast, which he obligingly did.  One groundhog dead, how many to go?