EVERY DAY IS GROUNDHOG DAY

Hal the Groundhog

So, if you've read King-Cat for awhile, you know that the Groundhog, AKA the North American Woodchuck (Marmota monax), is sort of my totem animal.  I've been canoodling with them ever since my family moved out to the wilds of Hoffman Estates in 1979.  And for all those years, I held within a deep wish-- to touch a groundhog.

Thoreau famously sat with one until it felt comfortable enough to let him touch it, but the closest I ever got to a groundhog in recent years was probably ten feet or so.

So it was much to my delight when Stephanie told me that the Big Run Wolf Ranch in Lockport, IL was holding an upcoming open house, at which their very own Hal the Groundhog was scheduled to make his first Winter Prognostication.

We drove in towards the city, picked up my pal Ray, and headed down to Scenic, Historic Lockport.  (Lockport was headquarters to the Illinois and Michigan Canal, which I wrote about in King-Cat #60.)  We pulled in at the Wolf Ranch and walked around, over the stream and past the weird ducks and chickens.  We met Charlie the Cougar and Khan the Siberian Tiger, and a bunch of lovely wolves.  Two delightful porcupines, and a skunk named Kirby (!).

The porcupine's nose was very charming.

Kirby the Skunk

He put his cheek against mine!

JP, Kirby, and Ray Rehayem; with volunteer.

Hal wasn't scheduled to make his appearance until 1 PM, so we got back in the car, drove downtown, and had a great lunch at the local raw, organic, gluten-free cafe (!!!).  It was so good we had Key Lime Pie for dessert and had to hustle back to the Ranch for Hal's appearance.

When we got there, Hal was in his Pet Carrier, and the volunteers were explaining the habits of this wily creature, including a brief history of the lore behind the only major* holiday named for a rodent.  Finally they opened the cage, and coaxed Kirby out onto the tabletop...  did he see his shadow?  I don't know, but he did leap off the table and hustle across the yard, past the barbecue, and into the open garage.  Presently they rounded him up again and brought him back out for all the kids to see.

Hal enjoying some string cheese.

He was just a little guy, about 10 months old, a Minnesotan by birth.  He was very cute, and seemed nonplussed by all the goo-gooing children.  After some time with the kids, he went back inside to relax, and then... the main attraction:

A month or so before out visit, Stephanie had gotten in touch with the Ranch Manager, Renee, and had arranged for me to have a bit of private time with Hal afterwards.  We huddled in the cold garage while Renee went back and brought him out.  He was adorable.  We fed him some string cheese to calm him down a bit and Renee picked him up.  I got to pet him a little, stroking his neck and ears.  He was soft.  I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to actually hold him, but she held him up for me and I picked him up.

He was lighter than I expected, and felt just like a big squirrel-- soft, loose fur, and a warm muscular body beneath.  He trembled a bit like a squirrel.  His nails felt long and quite sharp, as he held on to my jacket and squirmed.  It was all happening so fast!  Renee took him from me again to calm him down, and then I got to hold him one more time.  This time he felt a little more settled and I got to look down at him and really try to remember the moment.

She took him from me once again and brought him back inside.  He'd had a long day.  And so had we...

We said our thank yous and got back in the car for the ride home.  A dream of mine, come true.

*If I say it's major, it's major.

All photos by Stephanie Dorman
Special thanks to Stephanie, Hal, and Renee

AMERICAN GROUNDHOGGERS

Photos by SD

MESMERIC INFLUENCES/GROUNDHOG DAY

Those of you who've read King-Cat for awhile know how I love them groundhogs.  So I love Groundhog Day, in principle at least. I like that there is a day devoted to this lovable creature, but I dislike that it involves some dude in a 19th Century suit, with a top hat and cigar, man-handling some poor, overfed, scared-to-death whistle pig.




You may also know that one of my biggest heroes is Henry David Thoreau.  I was delighted to find that he also loved himself a good woodchuck (and no, the myth that he caught and ate one, raw, is just that-- a myth).  Here's a (long) selection from his remarkable Journal, dated April 16, 1852.  It's worth the read.

"As I turned round the corner of Hubbard's Grove, saw a woodchuck, the first of the season, in the middle of the field, six or seven rods from the fence which bounds the wood, and twenty rods distant.  I ran along the fence and cut him off, or rather overtook him, though he started at the same time.  When I was only a rod and a half off, he stopped, and I did the same;  then he ran again, and I ran up within three feet of him, when he stopped again, the fence being between us.  I squatted down and surveyed him at my leisure.  His eyes were dull black and rather inobvious, with a faint chestnut (?) iris, but with little expression and that more of resignation than anger.  The general aspect was a coarse grayish brown, a sort of grisel (?).  A lighter brown next the skin, then black or very dark brown, and darker still or black on the tip of the nose.  The whiskers black, two inches long.  The ears very small and roundish, set far back and nearly buried in the fur.  Black feet, with long and slender claws for digging.  It appeared to tremble, or perchance shivered with cold.  When I moved, it gritted its teeth quite loud, sometimes striking the under jaw against the other chatteringly, sometimes grinding one jaw on the other, yet as if more from instinct than anger.  Whichever way I turned, that way it headed.  I took a twig a foot long and touched its snout, at which it started forward and bit the stick, lessening the distance between us to two feet, and still it held all the ground it gained.  I played with it tenderly awhile with the stick, trying to open its gritting jaws.  Ever its long incisors, two above and two below, were presented.  But I thought it would go to sleep if I stayed long enough.  It did not sit upright as sometimes, but standing on its fore feet with its head down, i.e. half sitting, half standing.  We sat looking at one another about half an hour, till we began to feel mesmeric influences.  When I was tired, I moved away, wishing to see him run, but I could not start him.  He would not stir as long as I was looking at him or could see him.  I walked round him;  he turned as fast and fronted me still.  I sat down by his side within a foot.  I talked to him quasi forest lingo, baby-talk, at any rate in a conciliatory tone, and thought that I had some influence on him.  He gritted his teeth less.  I chewed checkerberry leaves and presented them to his nose at last without a grit;  though I saw that by so much gritting of the teeth he had worn them rapidly and they were covered with a fine white powder, which, if you measured it thus, would have made his anger terrible.  He did not mind any noise I might make.  With a little stick I lifted one of his paws to examine it, and held it up with pleasure.  I turned him over to see what color he was beneath (darker or more purely brown), though he turned himself back again sooner than I could have wished.  His tail was also all brown, though not very dark, rat-tail like, with loose hairs standing out on all sides like a caterpillar brush.  He had a rather mild look.  I spoke kindly to him.  I reached checkerberry leaves to his mouth.  I stretched my hands over him, though he turned up his head and still gritted a little.  I laid my hand on him, but immediately took it off again, instinct not being wholly overcome.  If I had had a few fresh bean leaves, thus in advance of the season, I am sure I should have tamed him completely.  It was a frizzly tail.  His is a humble, terrestrial color like the partridge's, well concealed where dead wiry grass rises above darker brown or chestnut dead leaves, -- a modest color.  If I had had some food, I should have ended with stroking him at my leisure.  Could easily have wrapped him up in my hankerchief.  He was not fat nor particularly lean.  I finally had to leave him without seeing him move from the place.  A large, clumsy, burrowing squirrel.  Arctomys, bear-mouse.  I respect him as one of the natives.  He lies there, by his color and habits so naturalized amid the dry leaves, the withered grass, and the bushes.  A sound nap, too, he has enjoyed in his native fields, the past winter.  I think I might learn some wisdom of him.  His ancestors have lived here longer than mine."

Almost all of Thoreau's writings are available for free online, as PDFs, from the Walden Institute.  Just knowing that this man once walked our Earth makes me feel better.

Happy Groundhog Day!