The groundhog is known in some parts as a whistle pig because of his high-pitched squeak, his porcine eyes, and his predilection for gluttony. He distains the vast greenery of nature in favor of delicacies intended for the table. Unlike his cousin the bunny rabbit, who nibbles here and there, the groundhog will chomp down an entire row of garden peas leaving nothing but bare stems for the person who planted them. His gourmandizing is so extreme I've seen him hauling his bulbous behind over a three-foot garden fence.
The groundhog is in fact a common woodchuck and for reasons that escape me is celebrated in verse. He cannot, could not, and has absolutely no reason to ever chuck wood, and I for one see no point in speculating how much he would if he could.
Anyone who has tried to keep him out of the cucumber patch will tell you he’s clever in his larceny, but the groundhog is otherwise a dull fellow and a lousy predictor of the coming of spring. In fact I declare him unworthy of his own day in the calendar and pronounce him a fraud.
On the other hand I heard on the news this morning that Punxsutawney Phil failed to see his shadow and declares that warmth is on its way. As I look outside my window at the snowy gloom, I’m tempted to believe him.
Phillip, you’re a wise and prescient rodent – a great seer -- a prince of the marmot clan. Possibly your residence, Gobbler’s Knob is not, after all, named for your treatment of lettuce. Damned good forecast! The crocus is stirring under the snow. Thanks for letting me know.
No comments:
Post a Comment