Yesterday, Chip-Chip had an unannounced visitor. Since it was Sunday and all, I imagine critters drop in on each other in much the same way as the occasional unwelcome distant relative, looking for a fresh cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll, or passing judgment on a home in disarray, unprepared for the uninvited. (Why do drop-ins never bring anything to share with the drop-in-ee, in other words, the dropped-in-upon?)
The visitor in Chip-Chip's case turned out to be a 13-lined ground squirrel (a.k.a. Mr. Gopher). The 13-lined ground squirrel shimmied behind the front steps and in a few moments exited the south end and wandered off. Since his fur was still unruffled—and no major wounds were apparent—one of three things probably happened: First, the 13-lined ground squirrel found Chip-Chip asleep, since the temperature was rather cold in the mid-thirties, and didn’t have the heart to wake him. Second, the 13-lined ground squirrel stopped in for a moment, exchanged pleasantries, and then, having run out of conversation or snacks, decided to be on his way. Or, third, the 13-lined ground squirrel stopped by, found no Chip-Chip, helped himself briefly to Chip-Chip’s stockpile of sunflower seeds—an unavoidable instinct of little critters and of more than a few people (see my first post)—and scampered off before getting caught.
There may be other possibilities, but, quite frankly, I’m growing annoyed writing 13-lined ground squirrel. What an inelegant and clumsy way to describe a little critter. What’s the point of saying 13-lined? Is a zebra called the 257-striped zebra? Is the leopard called the 799-spotted leopard? Furthermore, is the chipmunk called the 5-lined (or striped) chipmunk? Or worse, the 5-black-lined (or striped), 2-white-lined (or striped) chipmunk? That’s a name that would weigh down and cripple any little critter. And where’s the art in the name? The naming of the chipmunk, by contrast, at least has the twin virtues of (1) being easy to say and (2) being drawn in part on its behavior, not just superficial features.
I propose that the 13-lined ground squirrel’s name be changed to the garden squirrel, the yard squirrel, the holy squirrel (as in one that makes holes), the sneaky squirrel, or, if nothing else, Earl. Now, I'll be the first to admit that Earl could cause confusion if you have a relative or dog named Earl, if you refer to your rake as Earl, or if you like to talk to your neighbor about the TV show My Name is Earl. So you can easily see that my proposals possess limited merit. My overall point is larger: namely, that people of unbelievably little imagination (the 7-penned pocket-protected nerdius-maximus?) have been authorized to hang the noose of 13-lined ground squirrel around a little critter that had no say in the matter.
If there is any consolation, most people refer to it as a gopher anyway. Out of ignorance most likely. But I’d like to think it's out of respect for the little critter or out of rebellion against THE MAN.
The visitor in Chip-Chip's case turned out to be a 13-lined ground squirrel (a.k.a. Mr. Gopher). The 13-lined ground squirrel shimmied behind the front steps and in a few moments exited the south end and wandered off. Since his fur was still unruffled—and no major wounds were apparent—one of three things probably happened: First, the 13-lined ground squirrel found Chip-Chip asleep, since the temperature was rather cold in the mid-thirties, and didn’t have the heart to wake him. Second, the 13-lined ground squirrel stopped in for a moment, exchanged pleasantries, and then, having run out of conversation or snacks, decided to be on his way. Or, third, the 13-lined ground squirrel stopped by, found no Chip-Chip, helped himself briefly to Chip-Chip’s stockpile of sunflower seeds—an unavoidable instinct of little critters and of more than a few people (see my first post)—and scampered off before getting caught.
There may be other possibilities, but, quite frankly, I’m growing annoyed writing 13-lined ground squirrel. What an inelegant and clumsy way to describe a little critter. What’s the point of saying 13-lined? Is a zebra called the 257-striped zebra? Is the leopard called the 799-spotted leopard? Furthermore, is the chipmunk called the 5-lined (or striped) chipmunk? Or worse, the 5-black-lined (or striped), 2-white-lined (or striped) chipmunk? That’s a name that would weigh down and cripple any little critter. And where’s the art in the name? The naming of the chipmunk, by contrast, at least has the twin virtues of (1) being easy to say and (2) being drawn in part on its behavior, not just superficial features.
I propose that the 13-lined ground squirrel’s name be changed to the garden squirrel, the yard squirrel, the holy squirrel (as in one that makes holes), the sneaky squirrel, or, if nothing else, Earl. Now, I'll be the first to admit that Earl could cause confusion if you have a relative or dog named Earl, if you refer to your rake as Earl, or if you like to talk to your neighbor about the TV show My Name is Earl. So you can easily see that my proposals possess limited merit. My overall point is larger: namely, that people of unbelievably little imagination (the 7-penned pocket-protected nerdius-maximus?) have been authorized to hang the noose of 13-lined ground squirrel around a little critter that had no say in the matter.
If there is any consolation, most people refer to it as a gopher anyway. Out of ignorance most likely. But I’d like to think it's out of respect for the little critter or out of rebellion against THE MAN.
P.S. When is a stripe not a stripe but a line? Is there an international standard for determining the official designation of lines and stripes? Who's on that international board? How were they elected? And who's following the money? I smell the dirty rat of politics . . . the stripelessed-linelessed bald tail of corruption.
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