The large flat rock in the meadow was tilted at exactly 12 degrees facing west, so the surface was the ideal spot for an animal to flatten out and catch some rays. The blind woodchuck had been waiting for the first warm day of spring and was delighted to find the stone empty of other creatures, because when she lays around the rock, she lays around the rock. She giggled at the joke at her own expense and then flung herself backwards, as if diving into a pool of cool water.
“Hey!” There was a furious shout and a strangled choking noise as Steve the Iguana materialized halfway buried under her bulky haunch. “Get off me!”
“Steve, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. You were the same color as the rock.” The iguana was her best friend, but the woodchuck was often surprised by his ability to blend into different parts of the meadow. The lizard was still coughing and the woodchuck prepared to Heimlich him, although there was a real possibility she would crush his spine while saving his life. “I’m ok,” gasped Steve; “Some ants went down the wrong way.”
“Steve, you should not be eating ants!” scolded the woodchuck. “They are defenders of democracy.”
“How is that possible?” muttered the iguana, annoyed because his lunch had now scattered.
“You’ve heard of the resistance group antifa, right?” she whispered. “This is them.”
Seeing the look of disbelief on Steve’s face, the blind woodchuck went on to explain that all the organizing and fundraising of the resistance was coming from the inhabitants of the nearby ant farm. “Pretty cool, huh? No one would suspect they were the brains of the group.”
“Do they have brains?” wondered Steve. “How can they make a decision when there are so many of them?”
“I think there’s a queen in each colony that tells them what to do; kind of like me in the meadow.”
There was a soft snort of disbelief from behind the rock; Steve and the woodchuck leaned over to see her cousin Shirley slumped on the ground. “If you’re the queen,” snapped Shirley, “why don’t you make this all this stop? Get rid of the weasel and his minions, tell Treasury Secretary Bessent to release the financials relating to the Epstein files and leave us the hell alone!”
The woodchuck and the iguana were taken aback. Shirley was the most optimistic animal in the meadow; the head organizer and cheerleader for marches and protests. When even the chipmunks were ready to give up, she always had a slogan or a fight song ready to energize the troops.
“You okay, Shirl?” asked the woodchuck softly.
“I AM NOT OKAY! I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to march or make signs—I want to sit in the sun and finish the epic poem I am writing about wolves. It’s 3,182 lines and written in alliterative verse but I can’t focus enough to finish it. I don’t want my every waking thought to be about the weasel. Why do I know who the Secretary of the Treasury is? I am a goddamn groundhog!”
The woodchuck was not very good at comforting others and felt she often made the situation worse by making a joke. Instead, she pushed Steve toward Shirley and muttered, “Say something to make her feel better.”
The iguana thought for a long moment, and then said, “Shirley, did you know I have two penises?”
The woodchuck yelled, “How is that going to make her feel better?”; but her shout was drowned out by Shirley’s surprised bark of laughter.
“I knew about the third eye on your head, but not the hemipenis!” she gasped, rising hysteria shaking her whole body as the woodchuck glared furiously at Steve, who had blushed into a deep pink. Shirley was still snorting and giggling, tears running down either side of her snout as she tried and failed to maintain her composure.
“You don’t have to go to this march; you can sit this one out.” The woodchuck patted her cousin’s knee in solidarity. “Antifa is going and they estimate there are about eleven million of them in this meadow alone, minus the ones Steve ate for lunch. They will cover for you.”
“The ants go marching one by one . . .” Shirley started singing and then cracked herself up again.
“They don’t really use that song anymore; it just goes on forever,” explained the woodchuck. “They have adopted a Dave Matthews song as their theme; it’s only 4:27. But seriously, it’s okay to take a break if you need to.”
Shirley sat up and swiped at the damp fur under her eyes. “I haven’t laughed this hard in months. They’re not going to make me cry uncle—I’m going with the antis!” The woodchuck winced at the very bad pun, as Shirley added: “I’m definitely going to the March, but on one condition—I want to march next to Steve. I have a lot of questions for him.”
• • •
Because it’s important to learn something new everyday, the iguana hemipenis is a real thing, found in over 9000 species of Squamata (the second largest order of vertebrates around the world). They have spikes on them! Here is a picture of the hemipenes to haunt your dreams.
Also, the next No Kings March is March 28—this Saturday. Come join the eleven million ants and people we hope will turn up to show this awful administration we want them all out, including the Secretary of the Treasury.
• • •
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! Look for her at The Blind Woodchuck on Substack.
theblindwoodchuck.com 