How Much Wood?

On the way into the dump this morning I ran over a woodchuck. Thinking that it was done for, I threw it into the back of my pickup expecting to make some purloo for lunch (a few onions, some potatoes, carrots, thyme, salt, and pepper … and of course the critter). As I was preparing to skin the bugger, it started moving. Now, unfortunately, the local PETA organizer, entering the cob shack for a hazardous material permit, saw this episode … and stepped between myself and the groundhog with arms akimbo, shouting. “Let this poor creature live!!” I sighed and retired to my rocking chair resigned to have a tuna on rye for my midday repast.

Within minutes Mr. PETA was on his cell phone rallying the local celery chompers to come to the rescue of the woodchuck. He also summoned a veternarian, the local media and sympethetic politicians to throw up the curtain of public opinion against we heathens who treated life and death so cavaleerly. A vet was the first to respond. He came into the cob shack and requisitioned Cheesey’s desk as an operating table. He performed a tracheotomy and inserted a feeding tube into this poor animals stomach. Within an hour the woodchuck had rallied and was moving its eyes following the vets finger movements. Now reporters were swarming around our small, personal space … knocking over our bong-pipes and dog-earing our Hustler magazines.

Pretty soon TV talk shows were also involved, setting up satellite dishes, and doing talking-heads remotes from in front of the recycling area. Pro and anti-woodchuck groups gradually gathered around … with belligerant signs such as “Up chuck the woodchuck” and “Preserve the right to lie.” Cheesy was getting more and more agitated at these intrusions. Finally, when the PETA people were distracted by their interview with Larry King, he picked up a compost shovel and gave one upside the head to this poor animal. Needless to say, the circus that was our day quickly ended … with both a bang and a wimper.