In honor of Groundhog Day, I thought I’d present you with a story about my grandmother’s strangest pet, Squeaky the Groundhog. Yes, a groundhog. Hey, what is a groundhog anyway but an overgrown guinea pig and people have those as pets all the time, right?
So anyway, my grandmother was the quintessential mountain country grandmother. Toothpick perpetually perched at the corner of her mouth, beans growing in the backyard, fatback frying on the stove. My grandfather died before I was born, so as long as I knew her, she was on her own. She loved the TV and would talk back to it – not in a crazy way, but just in a general commentary way. She especially liked to talk back to evangelists and politicians. But I digress.
This story is to be about Squeaky. The story I heard is that Squeaky showed up as an abandoned baby, and she nursed him up to young adulthood, at which time he left home to find his fortune. She called him Squeaky because, like the aforementioned guinea pigs, he made a squeaking noise.
When I was about 3, Squeaky reappeared. Like many children who find the world too big and scary, he returned home to the warmth of the space under my grandmother’s kitchen sink. Because it was an old country house, he was able to come and go as he pleased through this sink portal.
My single memory of Squeaky is an unpleasant one. I remember holding him and feeding him something, and then out of nowhere he bit me on the wrist. My sisters were present and vouch to this day that I did nothing to provoke him. Maybe like many animals that aren’t used to small children, a sudden movement startled him. Or maybe the fact that he was a wild animal finally caught up with him. Whatever the reason, it was a big mistake on Squeaky’s part.
As the rest of the story has been told to me, Granny heard the commotion, and upon finding out what had happened, immediately lit out on him with a broom. She beat him back to the kitchen and under the sink, yelling colorful and often invented insults at him. All day long, if Squeaky so much as poked a whisker out from under the sink, out came the broom and the whacking and yelling resumed.
I suppose she eventually forgave him, but I don’t remember ever playing with Squeaky again. When I was in second grade, we were talking about wild animals and I mentioned that I had been bitten by a groundhog. My evil second grade teacher (didn’t everyone have at least one evil elementary school teacher?) called me a liar in front of the whole class because, as she said, “If you had been bitten by a groundhog you would be dead because they carry rabies”. I went home in tears and told my mom, and she sent me to school the next day with the above picture. I don’t remember the teacher ever apologizing, but I got my satisfaction.
