If daily life doesn't raise their blood pressure and cause acid reflux, watching chipmunks, from the human perspective, can be an awfully nerve-wracking experience. Just yesterday I had to stop a car because Chip-Chip was crossing the street. (No, I’m not in law enforcement or animal control.) Well, he froze and returned to the neighbor's driveway, where he hid under an SUV until all was clear. Then he crawled through its wheel, checked out the situation--traffic-wise--and scurried across the street.
It's worth noting that chipmunks don't cross streets the way grey squirrels do. If you've ever noticed a grey squirrel, it seems wrought with indecision, starting, then stopping, turning around, then no, going forward, no, forget that, let's just stop in the middle of the street, then wait for cars to get closer, then head back toward the curb, then no, wait, stop, no, turn around, and, as cars get closer, turn around and race across the street almost all the way, then stop, still giving the cars a chance, then, assuming all goes well--which is not always the case-- continuing safely to the nearest maple tree. A grey squirrel crossing the street is indecision personified. This explains why squirrels litter streets and highways across America.
But not so with the chipmunk. Once the commitment is made, it's off to the races from the starting gun to the finish line--even if a car or some other three ton vehicle is rumbling toward it. The result may not always be salutary, but you have to admire that kind of commitment in chipmunks in general and in Chip-Chip in particular. Such commitment on occasion has me racing for the antacids and Xanax. And it explains in part why chipmunks don't live more than a year or two, maybe three at the longest. It also explains why they need to keep a continue supply of new chipmunks on the market. Chipmunks and grey squirrels pretty much have that much in common with each other and with most other little critters unregulated by local ordinances. My guess is that this state of affairs crosses most national boundaries and time zones. No matter their country of origin, little critters' reserve of good luck begins running a deficit from birth.
So I temporarily stopped the car (itself belonging to a driver long on patience.) Some observers may be annoyed by an overly sentimental intrusion upon the natural order of life and death of wild life, even that which lives in a relatively domesticated and regulated environment of a quiet neighborhood littered with "Slow: Children at Play" signs. Well, stop is not really the correct word. I flailed my arms and pointed down to what probably looked like a leaf drifting across the street, like one of several somewhat disturbed people squatting in the group home two blocks to the south and one to the east. (I couldn’t blame the driver for the erroneous conclusion.)
Chip-Chip scooted for cover under a geranium planter box, waited a bit longer, and then scampered up the driveway, more relaxed now, and then disappeared into the garden—as if a near-death experience were a daily event. Another thing about chipmunks is that they generally avoid running out in open spaces, such as avenues and boulevards and double-wide driveways, and for obvious reasons: They become easy targets. While they may be quick, their top end speed falters against that of a hawk or a cat, or, for that matter, the resident terror with the homemade sling shot two houses to the left after a left turn at the end of the street. Chip-Chip, I'm learning, is no ordinary chipmunk. In expanding his territory, he's willing to take increasingly large risks, which reveals the dare devil in him; in fact, if he would just stay home, he would always have more than enough food necessary to ever have to cross the street. Is he an explorer, a Christopher Columbus of Chipmunks? Does he have wanderlust? Or is he cruising for Ms. Chipmunk? Adventurous little soul--I hope he doesn't have a death wish.
The life of a chipmunk is precarious enough as it is. Having a death wish, for a chipmunk, is redundant.
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