The woodchuck squeezed her belly upwards through the tunnel entrance to her burrow; she could barely fit through it. She took this as an encouraging sign she was ready for hibernation, although a few more Snickers bars couldn’t hurt. She sniffed the cold, clear air and spent a few peaceful moments watching the snowflakes flutter to the ground, when a snickering came from behind the flat rock. Two of the Weasel’s elite guardian ferrets were pointing at her and making snorty, giggling sounds.
“Hey, I heard you won the Fattest Woodchuck Contest!” one of them taunted. “You barely got out of the burrow!” There was usually a pile of dirt at the entrance of the hole she had dug that was now gone, and she realized the ferrets had shoveled it back into the burrow to make it seem like she was too fat to get out.
“Hey, Ferret Buehler, come over here;” the woodchuck beckoned to the two skinny animals. “Do you know why we get so chonky just before we go to bed for a few months?” The foolish ferrets ambled over, convinced there was safety in numbers, when the woodchuck grabbed their legs and pinned them both under her belly like an irritated sumo wrestler whose thong was too tight.
“I will live off my body fat for the next few months, cozy in my burrow, while you two skeletal freaks are out scrounging around looking for food in the middle of winter!” There was muffled screaming and gasping coming from under her body, and the woodchuck teased, “Buehler? Buehler?” She gave them another thirty seconds before hearing one whimper uncle and rolling off them. “I’m going to tell my uncle, the weasel!” one of them sobbed as they limped off. “Life moves pretty fast,” shouted the woodchuck after them. “If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could get sat on.”
She chuckled as they disappeared; hibernation was her favorite time of year and that encounter had put her in a good mood. She was very late to the Big Sleep, but the weasel had been inflicting so much chaos on the forest this fall that she had not been able to settle down. She ambled over to Shirley’s burrow to say good night, knowing that her cousin had been dealing with the same issues she had and was overcompensating for the insomnia by painting woodchucks in the style of Bob Ross.
“Look who’s here!” said Shirley in a strained voice. “You remember our cousin Tawny from the next meadow over —she just dropped by!”
The woodchuck had many cousins but had trouble distinguishing one from another—they all looked pretty much the same to her. She did not remember there being a Tawny in the family, and this one seemed larger than life.
“Tawny is an influencer,” Shirley explained through gritted teeth. “You’ve probably seen the videos she makes where she exercises to Kenny Loggins’ songs and sells cicada protein shakes. She is trying to persuade our fellow groundhogs to get into wellness and to be careful with the winter weight gain.”
“The winter weight gain, as she puts it, is what allows us to survive underground until spring,” muttered the woodchuck. “Why does everyone get so weird about diets this time of year?”
“You know, your snout is adorable,” gushed Tawny. “But if you plumped up your lips a bit, I’ll bet you could attract some attention from that gentleman groundhog in the next burrow. There’s a racoon a few trees down who can poke you in the mouth with a tiny sharp stick about a hundred times.”
Shirley quickly changed the subject. “Has everyone made their New Year’s resolutions?”
“I’ve tried, but honestly, restaurants won’t save tables for rodents. It’s so racist!” complained Tawny.
“Um, I believe that’s reservations, Tawny. I’m talking about what you plan to do in the new year to become a better woodchuck.”
“I have some reservations about this whole conversation. . .” started the woodchuck, but Tawny interrupted.
“My plan is to try Chat GLP-1; that same raccoon with the tiny sticks can also talk you into trying those weight loss drugs.”
“Tawny, if you took those shots and then slept three months, you would come out of hibernation looking like Ariane Grande’s clavicles. For heaven’s sake, eat a Snickers bar.”
“Oh, I loved her in Wicked! I’m so glad she teamed up with the Wizard—he really knew what was best for the people of Oz.”
“You thought the Wizard was the hero of that movie?” The woodchuck turned to Shirley and whispered, “Are you sure she’s a groundhog? She seems more like a mink or a hoary marmot.”
After Tawny’s complete rundown of every Real Housewife episode, the woodchuck managed to extricate herself from Shirley’s burrow and head back to her own. She was yawning as scurried across the meadow and realized she was finally ready for hibernation. She felt bad for abandoning her cousin to Tawny’s reviews of different reality TV franchises but was certain the monotonous squeak of her voice would drop Shirley into a coma soon enough.
Damn, it had been a long year. She closed her eyes and slept.
• • •
Wishing you the peace that would come from a three-month nap in a cozy burrow, and the energy that will be needed to confront the challenges of the coming year. Happy New Year!
You’re still here? It’s over. Go home. Go!
• • •
The woodchuck has a new burrow! You can still hang around here with the other woodland animals, but the iguanas and the platypus have moved over to Substack, where they hope to reach millions of new readers and possibly amass a fortune in cicadas! (The woodchuck doesn’t really expect you to hand over your tasty bugs—she’s just hoping for new eyes to read about her adventures.) Look for her at The Blind Woodchuck on Substack.
theblindwoodchuck.com 