Chipmunk Interlude

I awoke hungry, as usual.  The hunger never ceased.  I uncurled myself from a ball and stretched until my fur bristled; a luxurious release from the tips of my whiskers to the tip of my tail.  The angle of the sunlight through the crack in my rock told me it was past midday.  I sniffed all around my burrow and checked my cache of pine nuts to make sure there had been no intruders, then paused at the opening to sniff some more.  Paranoia was a way of life for a chipmunk.

“Chip!  Chip!  Chip!”  I let everyone know I was awake.  A few far-off pips answered me: Fuzzball, from the next pile of rocks, where he was no doubt guarding his own cache.  It was late in the year, and foraging was scarce.  Rivals were growing bolder with food so hard to find, and raids were common.  The hunger drove us all to foolish audacity, sometimes pilfering precious pine nuts from a neighbor’s cache while he was busy stealing food from ours!

Venturing tentatively into the sunlight in short spurts, I paused every few steps to snuffle in the familiar pine needles strewn about my territory.  I knew them so well I could tell which ones had been dropped since the day before.  There was a new fallen branch on the flat rock (that was the noise that woke me from a fitful nap), and I clambered all over it to see if anything was edible.  I felt the urge to forage growing inside me like a fire, compelling me to inspect the entire perimeter of my territory.  Baggy Cheeks, the old timer who was tolerated in anyone’s territory, dozed in the sun on a rotten log.  He peeked at me sagely with half an eyelid open as I passed by.  I found a husk of a pine cone that I hadn’t marked before, and I furiously tore its dry petals in frustration looking for a nut somebody else might have missed.  Along the way, I checked the base of each tree to make sure there were no trespassers.  Touching the trunks and looking up into the maze of boughs, I could feel no vibrations.  I would check to the tips of every branch later.  First, I needed a drink.

“Pip-pip-pip-pip!”  A hawk!  The sentinel alarm caused an instinctive reaction as I dove for cover in the nearest crack.  No shadow passed near me, and there were no screams of a victim or further warnings.  I lay low, aligning the stripes on my back with my cover for better camouflage.  When I stood still, the hunger gnawed at my insides like a blind mole trying to get out.  Soon the slight rustling noises of birds in the brush, and faint toenail clicks of scurrying chipmunks told me all was safe.  I waited a bit more, to see if their activity would draw any surprise return by the hawk.  (I didn’t survive my two summers by being stupid.)  After a suitably cautious time, I remembered I was thirsty.

I scampered across the rock to the seep in the cleft, and met Fuzzball coming out.  We wrestled playfully in greeting, for the seep was neutral ground, and water was shared by all.  Fuzzball was my friend since we had been raised together in a communal den.  We may have even been brothers, but it hardly mattered.  He was a bit stout for a chipmunk, due to his prodigious talents at neighborhood larceny.  After drinking rapidly, I left him and followed the familiar labyrinth of cracks, jumbled rocks, branches, and dirt paths out to where the Strange Place was.  There were no humans.  The acrid smell of fire lingered in the stale air, and the ground was unnaturally dusty and hot.  I nosed the chewed wrapper of a granola bar for the hundredth time.  Even the tiniest crumbs were long gone, and the wrapper had almost lost the scent of its delightful contents.  I stuffed a few dried and dirty manzanita berries in my cheeks, and headed back to patrol my territory.

“Chee-whip!  Chee-whip!”  That was another warning signal: intruders were approaching!  I bristled with excitement.  Would there be danger, or maybe food?  I had fond memories of intruders bringing wonderful treats, but also recollection of unfamiliar peril.  Dozens of bright little eyes peered out with similar thoughts, from discreet hiding places where the approaching trail could be covertly observed.  The pitch of the signal squeaks changed: It was no bear or predator… it was humans!  I twitched my tail excitedly, remembering the granola bar.  “Chee-whip-AH,” exhorted the sentinel, and I gasped involuntarily.  Wolves!  By now I could hear the dull thumping and scraping bushes from the noisy humans, each one of them sounding like an avalanche in a thunderstorm.  Soon they came trudging into sight, with two tired-looking wolves at their heels.  There were several rolling bursts of “Chee-whip-AH” from my neighbors, echoing the warning of the sentinel, as the tired-looking wolves passed up the trail.

Excitedly, I moved to where I could see the humans approaching the Strange Place they favored, which was at the edge of my territory.  I kept a wary distance, and mentally traced my escape route back to the safety of my burrow.  I moved frequently, not exposing myself, but keeping a calculated distance away from the wolves that was always longer than the distance to my burrow.  Other chipmunks had come, and were maneuvering for position around the edge of the Strange Place, which was another sort of neutral territory.  The humans hastily dumped all their belongings in a pile and headed down to the lake.  The tired wolves followed.  When I could hear their noises far enough away and no longer felt the vibrations of their heavy feet, I tiptoed down to check out their stuff, using the old log as cover.  What had they brought me this time?

Tantalizing smells wafted from the strange bundles on the ground, mixed with the awful, bitter odor of humans, and the terrifying musk of wolves.  I did a quick reconnaissance of the bundles, often checking in the direction where the wolves had disappeared.  The humans were not a concern to me.  They were slow and clumsy.  They made more noise and were less threatening than a winter tempest.  But wolves were always a danger, and some were quicker than others.  Fuzzball peeped softly as he joined me near the bundles, knowing I had already seen him approaching.  Bushytail and Furryface lingered near the log, hoping to join us.  They were young females with whom we mated occasionally, but had not yet formed a bond.  We pretended to ignore them, as was the proper etiquette when ladies approached a big feast.  Other young males had already reached the other bundles, and were crawling over them excitedly like ants.

We had zeroed in on the parts of the pile where the food smells were strongest.  I found an open pocket, and it was full of wrappings that smelled like granola bars!  Suddenly, I sensed the return of a wolf… no, both wolves were headed back!  Quickly, I chirped a warning to Fuzzball and grabbed an open granola bar between my teeth and pulled it out of the pocket.  I held my head and tail high, with the granola bar clamped firmly in my teeth, and ran blindly as fast as I could.  We hastened back to the old log that led to the main escape route, ushering the ladies out of harm’s way.  The young male rivals, including Bent Whiskers, turned and fled with the commotion.  It took constant vigilance and swift, unrelenting action to keep this prime territory I had earned, and after I stashed my prize I barked a challenge at their defiant tails as the last of them scurried away.  We all reached our safe spots just as the wolves entered the Strange Zone, and we watched them sniffing the bundles protectively, no doubt smelling that we had just been there.  The three humans were also there, clueless as usual, making unnatural levels of noise and smells.

One of the wolves came close to where we were hiding, and sniffed around in a menacing way.  These looked like slow wolves, or maybe they were just tired, because neither of them seemed very fierce or enthusiastic about finding us.  They trotted back to their human companions, and we watched from our cracks and crevices.  There was much fascinating activity as the bundles were split apart like pine cones, and the contents distributed around the Strange Place.  The wolves nosed about the old log and looked up at us, sitting on our rocks in plain sight, but we were mere inches away from safety and feared them not a bit, now that we had them marked.  I knew from experience that the wolves and humans would keep my rivals at bay, and the hawks would not come while they were here, so I focused on the bounty being spread out at the doorstep of my territory.  The sun was nearly disappearing, and under cover of darkness the feast would begin.

The humans built a fire, which was terrifying to behold.  All my instincts told me to flee, but I had seen humans using fire before, and marveled at their godlike control of something so frightening.  I watched them eat with great interest, and noticed where their larder was cached.  They conveniently tied a large bag of food up in one of my trees, where the wolves could not hope to protect it; making it easier for me to defend against rivals.  Then they climbed up to the top of the large rock where Baggy Cheeks had staked his territory as a young, fearsome chipmunk in the years when he was able to defend it.  Many pairs of small, black glittering eyes watched with trembling anticipation as one human came back to the Strange Zone briefly, then returned to the rock.  To my great astonishment and glee, they stayed there the rest of the night, making loud breathing noises like hibernating bears.  And the wolves stayed with them!

When the gibbous moon rose above the rim, we made our move.  With great stealth Fuzzball and I crept down to the Strange Place, which was a tangle of odd smells and objects.  I made quick sweeps to the left and right, and startled Bent Whiskers and his cohorts trying to sneak up from the creek bed.  Chasing them away caused a huge racket (or so it seemed), and I listened intently for the sound of wolves, and my whiskers combed the night air for telltale signs of danger.  There might be owls!  All was quiet except for the buzzing sounds from the rock, like grasshoppers in the summer.

I could get the bag in the tree anytime, even with wolves on the ground, because the branches of the forest interlaced like an aerial highway.  So, I focused on the items in the Strange Place while they lay unprotected.  There were many unfamiliar, hard objects that tasted bad, and some that had no taste at all.  There were many fibers and soft things to shred, but nesting material would come later.  I thought of Bushytail, and how she would feel bundled in my soft nest all winter, with a lining of fibers to keep us warm.  I was driven to desperation by the bottomless hunger of an approaching winter, and was searching for only one thing: food.  There was one large bundle that had several pockets that smelled promising, and one in particular was tantalizingly inviting, but there was no opening.  I tested the material of the pocket with my sharp teeth.  It was a tough, tasteless fiber that I knew from experience required a lot of chewing to make a hole.  I took a break to check for danger.  Fuzzball was over where the humans had eaten, busily nosing through the underbrush.  There was no other movement, and the time was right.  I found softer fibers along the edge of the pocket, and quickly snipped them with my sharp teeth until I could wriggle inside.

More granola bars!  My glee was mixed with terror at being trapped in a confined space with only one exit.  Frantically, I gashed open the wrapping and stuffed my mouth with the sticky-sweet nuts and grains that I remembered in my dreams.  I stuffed my cheeks so full that I had a moment of panic when I discovered I couldn’t get back out through the hole I had made!  I reluctantly spit out most of the treasure, and worked myself into a tumultuous state of terror imagining the wolves were closing in on me.  I shot out of the pocket, and ran up the nearest tree before I realized there was no threat except in my own mind.  Carefully, I made my way back to the pocket and widened the hole.  Now I could get to work.  I whistled softly for Fuzzball, and he sprang to help, his whiskers quivering with excitement at the rich vein of deliciousness I had uncovered.  We took turns with one keeping watch while the other slipped into the pocket and stole away two cheeks full of yummy goodness.   I made dozens of trips back to my nest, recruiting Bushytail and Furryface to keep guard on my growing cache while Fuzzball and I worked steadily into the night.

When we had that pocket nearly empty, we scouted around for others like it.  Nothing smelled too promising, and I remembered the bag in the tree.  First, we patrolled the edges of the Strange Place, mapping the escape routes, and making sure Bent Whiskers was not around.  There were persistent, stealthy noises far off in the undergrowth, but he would get none of the finest spoils – I would make sure of that!  I briskly climbed the trunk of the tree until I found the thin rope where I could feel it vibrating from the night breezes.  I considered chewing through the rope, but then the bag would fall and be available to my rivals.  Here, where it was hanging, it was already as secure and defensible as a huge pine cone.  I trotted out on the downward slanting line, whipping my tail back and forth for balance in chipmunk fashion.  The thin rope trembled with every step, until I started going up again and came to the next tree.  Where was the bag?  I went back, and felt another rope tied to the midpoint where the line started to go up again.  It was easy to climb down, and the smells grew stronger with every foothold, until I reached the huge bag swaying gently in the night air.  A few quick snips with my scissor-like teeth, and I was in.

I had never seen so much food in one place before!  And what food!  There were nuts as big as my head, mixed with more granola bars, and strange, exotic foodstuffs that would last several winters!  I popped my head out and whistled for Fuzzball, who was guarding the base of the tree.  I stuffed a few nuts in my cheeks, and went back to explain the plan, which would be similar to our successful raid of the granola bars.  I took the first mouthful back to Bushytail and Furryface, who had gorged themselves already on the sticky granola bars, but were still alert and excited.  I was so happy I mounted them both right then and there, and scampered back to exchange places with Fuzzball.  With cheeks stuffed full every time, we alternated our trips from the hole in the bag, up the string and across to the tree, then down the trunk and across the Strange Place back to my nest, until my storage area was completely full.  We kept filling my entire nest until there was literally no place to sleep, and the ladies were out in the cold.  But they were so sleek and happy!  We frisked and danced with glee, and made joyful love in the moonlight.  Eventually we crammed ourselves as best we could across the opening to my nest, sleeping soundly in excited exhaustion.  Let Bent Whiskers have what he will – I would make him pay for trespassing later, when I was strong from all the nourishment we had secured for the winter.

At first light, Fuzzball and I left the ladies sleeping off their granola bar hangovers, and scurried back to the Strange Place to harass any rivals that had moved in during the night.  We were big and strong, and made bold by our successes the night before.  It smelled as if all the chipmunks in the known world had made an appearance in the Strange Place that night, and the few that remained scampered away in terror at our approach.  Bent Whiskers was nowhere to be found, but I sensed he was still nearby.  I was patrolling the perimeter when I felt a change in the air.  Wolves!  I remembered the danger instantly, and sounded the alarm.  “Chee-whip-AH!  Chee-whip-AH!”  A few remaining marauders jumped out from the piles of stuff and scrambled back to their hiding places.  Fuzzball and I took our places on the rock with the best view, and waited.  Something in me was rashly jealous, as if I wanted to confront these strange creatures for encroaching on my feeding ground!

I saw a face peek out from the hole in the now slightly saggy food bag: it was Three Fingers, one of Bent Whiskers’ gang.  He danced across the line and disappeared into the branches of the forest.  The wolves rushed fiercely into the Strange Place, and it was nerve-wracking to watch them snarling with their huge teeth, and aggressively sniffing everywhere!  The fright and danger were palpable even several yards away, and we almost retreated in panic!  Suddenly, Bent Whiskers leapt out of the pocket where I had found the granola bars, and the wolf was right on his tail!  Squealing like a baby, he ran as fast as he could to the rocks, with the wolf’s jaws snapping just inches behind him!  I was rooting for him despite our rivalry, and was relieved to see him reach a crack in the nick of time.  The frustrated wolf dug at the place where he disappeared, and paced about making terrible noises with savage intent.  The other wolf joined the search, and we all had to hide.

Back at my nest, Bushytail and Furryface had widened the entrance a bit so we had a cozy place to sleep.  There was so much food stuffed in the cracks that I couldn’t even see all of it.  She looked at me demurely, with an air of possession I recognized in my bones, and the four of us curled up for a long, exhausted sleep.  The humans finally noticed their larder had been ransacked, and made impotent noises of outrage all morning.  Meanwhile, the wolves still sniffed and whined on the top of the rock pile, but we had our lives to live, and would raise our children to pass on the tale of the Great Raid of the Gibbous Moon.