The Groundhog Blog

Home sweet home

Back in Minnesota! Well, the weather has certainly improved since the last time I was here. Thank God. I was worried I'd have to come back and shovel the driveway.

However, I got back to my burrow last night and found a skunk sleeping in my bed! And let me tell you, a skunk ain't no Goldilocks. I stared that mofo down until he got intimidated and left. Freakin' Pepé Le Pew had really stunk up the place while I was gone. But at least he wasn't a fox. Brr. Mental note: change the locks—again—and get some Glade candles.

Anyway, this morning I'm going to hit the gym (love the treadmill—great for the ol' haunches). After that, I'm going to get my vest back from the cleaners and get a Brazilian whisker trim (don't ask).

I also need to drop by the ideapark offices to make sure they tell the caterers not to serve anything made with ground chuck. I know, I know, it's supposed to be beef...but you just never know. Better safe than sorry.

Should be a good time tomorrow night. Ideapark knows how to throw a mean party. Can't wait to see everyone there!—Everyone, that is, except for Pepé. Sheesh.

Prince Charming is a dirty groundhog.

Holy crap, I was so right. Pardon Me Pete is the best person to go to any theme park with, because he cuts to the front of any line. He just says "Pardon me!" and people are so charmed by his whiskery cuteness that they let him right through. We rode every ride at Disneyworld six times in one day.

But then I realized that Pete uses that little trick for more than just cutting in line. For instance...

"Pardon me!"—he ate my lunch while I was in the restroom. I was pissed. It was some damn good alfalfa.

"Pardon me!"—he used up all the hot water taking a shower. Yet he still stinks. (And no, Pete, that greasy film on your back is not your "essential oils.")

"Pardon me!"—he stole $100 from my groundhog fanny pack (no groundhog fanny jokes, please). And shoot, it was all I had left for the rest of this trip, so I guess this means I need to head back home.

Anyway, I've got bigger things to worry about than a pickpocketing groundhog. Spring is just around the corner and I have a big party to get ready for back at ideapark. I love a good shindig and I've heard this one is going to be a doozy.

Have you RSVP'd yet?

Honorary smarty-pants.

I'm in Atlanta visiting an old family friend, General Beauregard Lee, Ph.D. He is one of the smartest of us groundhogs, probably because he's been around forever!

He got an honorary degree from The University of Georgia ("DWP, Doctor of Weather Prognostication") and from Georgia State University ("Doctor of Southern Groundology.") He's also an official "Cumulous Barometrist Groundhogolist."

Dude, this guy is hard core.

He took me for a walk last weekend, got me a little tipsy on mint juleps and started saying things like "I say, son, there ain't no burrow too deep fer a groundhog with a good edjecation." Next thing I knew, he was enrolling me in the local community college—something about "Meteorology and Rodentia."

Um, no thanks. I ain't a schoolin' kind of groundhog.

My brain needs a break. I'm heading to Disneyworld. And I know just the guy to come with me...

Does Coppertone need a spokes-hog?

Okay, I think the fame has gone to Phil's head. Get this:

First of all, he doesn't wear clothes. Freakin' nudist! Says they "hold back his potential." Yeah, well buddy, not all of us want to see your damn potential.

He spends all day, every day sitting by the pool, fielding calls from the media. Plus there are babes everywhere, serving him umbrella drinks, laughing at his jokes, slicking his fur down with tanning oil…it's seriously out of control. And do they even notice that he has a lisp? Knowing Phil, he probably arranges all his conversations so he never has to say the letter S.

When I first arrived, he was like "Hey Whithlepig!" and then offered to give me his autograph. (I swear, if he calls me Whistlepig one more time I am going choke him with his own tail.) I guess he's in talks with HBO to do a movie about his life, tentatively titled, "It's in the Hole." He wants Mickey Rourke to play the lead.

I tried to stay real quiet and just hang out by the pool with him and the ladies for a few days, but then I realized that Phil does the exact same thing every day. He wakes up, forages for food (ends up eating dog food and ice cream) gets into a couple of skirmishes with the neighbors, then sits by the pool until his whiskers sizzle. It's great for a day or two, but gets boring after a while. That plus dog food makes me puke.

This life isn't for me. See ya Phil, I'm off to see the General.

Well, what the —

So I showed up at Gobbler's Knob, PA and Phil's nowhere to be found! Word on the street was that he went back to his mansion in Los Angeles.

Typical Phil. Ever since the paparazzi started chasing him around on Groundhog Day, he's gotten to be such a diva. But really, is an 8 bedroom, 10 bath home with 6 pools really necessary?

The guy has really gotten an attitude over the past few years. I don't even know why I keep visiting him. I guess he's just one of my oldest friends. Or maybe it's the pools.

I'm heading to LA.

Deep sea fishing does NOT float my boat.

Remind me never to get into a boat with Shubenacadie Sam again. He's a fisherman by trade, and I thought, how relaxing...let's go hang out on the boat, drink a few beers, see if we can catch a few fish. But then he went all "Deadliest Catch" on my ass. I seriously thought I was going to puke up my spleen.

I'm gonna stick to a vegetarian diet from now on. Ugh. And dry land.

America is calling. I think I'll head south again, to see my ol' high school buddy Punxsatawney Phil in Pennsylvania. Maybe hit Amish country along the way.

Lesson of the day: don't mess with a chuck on the john.

Well, now that I've heard Chuck's side of the story, it all makes sense.

See, February 2nd is a very important day for us groundhogs. Our big public appearance. Naturally, we want to look our best. Chuck had gotten himself all gussied up, but then people started chanting his name, his nerves got the best of him and he had to run to the bathroom.

So he was just sitting there on the john when all of a sudden there was a big ruckus outside his door and the next thing he knew, someone was poking him with a cob of corn.

The only thing worse than being rushed out of the bathroom is to be prodded off the toilet with a corncob. That's when Chuck started to panic.

He grabbed that cob, yanked it all the way back into his burrow and tried to finish his business. But the next thing he knew, he was pulled out of his hole by the mayor of New York and lifted up in the air for everyone to see! Talk about being caught with your pants down. His big moment, his 15 minutes of fame in 2009, ruined by an impatient politician. Chuck was mortified...and pissed.

Damn right, he bit Bloomberg. And between you and me, Chuck told me later that he was going for something other than the mayor's hand.

Just goes to show, you've gotta give a groundhog a little respect on the big day. I hope Chuck gave 'em a couple extra weeks of winter for that one.

I'm outta here. Next stop, north of the border to Nova Scotia, for a fishing cruise with my mother's 3rd-cousin's half-brother, Shubenacadie Sam.

Wisconsin is for badgers.

Man, the drive through Wisconsin was a pain in the hindquarters. I was digging through the glove compartment for some food, my tail got a little heavy on the accelerator and...whaddya know...I got a $100 speeding ticket. Darn Wisconsin cop and his speed-trap - he must be bitter about this whole winter thing.

I finally got to Cousin Jimmy's and he was moping around, wearing a dirty Favre jersey and wiping his nose with a piece of string cheese. He's still upset about the Packers not making the Super Bowl—I guess he made a prediction at the beginning of the season, made a few bets and...well, let's just say that Jimmy's had to do some downsizing. Had to move to a hole in the middle of a cow field. Pathetic.

So last night Jimmy threw a wine and cheese party for us and some of the local 'chucks. I thought, okay, this doesn't sound half bad—a little Merlot to take the edge off the cold, right? Wrong. Turns out it was just a "whine" and cheese party. Must be a Wisconsin thing.

He started out complaining about how much he hates the Steelers. He swears that Favre was his only reason for living. Then he started bitching about his lactose intolerance. Dude, way TMI. And then he told us how cows keep dropping a load in his burrow. Geez, what a downer.

I don't think I can stick around here much longer...too depressing! Time to head out to NYC to visit my buddy Chuck on Staten Island. He's pretty bad-ass, as far as groundhogs go. Did you hear about how he bit Bloomberg? I've gotta get the full story from him in person.

And the verdict is...

Dammit. No, seriously. Damn. It.

I saw it. And just like last time, shrieked like a little girl.

But man, that shadow scares the bejeezus out of me every time! Following me at every turn, always there when I turn around, mimicking my every move. Dude, it's downright creepy.

Well, you're not going to see me sitting around, twiddling my tail, waiting for this God-awful cold weather to go away. 6 more weeks of winter? More like 6 weeks of winter vacation, my friends. If you think I'm sticking around here to count the icicles on my nose, you're crazy.

It's about time for me to take a little road trip. It's been too long since I've seen my groundhog pals, anyway. That's right, it's not just me. Groundhogs are everywhere! You know the saying: where there's wood to be chucked...

First stop: Cousin Jimmy in Wisconsin.

The big day is coming!

Man, it's cold here. Sure, I was ready for the snow, for the whole "Minnesota nice" thing. But the cold! It's enough to make my tail hair stand on end.

Name's Gordy. Gordy the Groundhog. You may also know me as a woodchuck or a whistlepig. (Dammit, Punxsutawney Phil, why did you have to start calling me that back in junior high? No wonder I couldn't get a date. Although back then I just thought it was my buckteeth.)

I moved here from Missouri last fall. 364 days of the year I spent chuckin' wood around, back and forth, up and down, for no apparent reason. I was tired of it—and let's be honest, how much wood is there left for a woodchuck to chuck these days anyway? It's all outsourced to freakin' India.

Anyway, I was ready for a change, so I followed the Big River up north until I hit Minneapolis. Found this great park to live in. Ideapark. Lots of dogs, but pretty quiet otherwise.

I just woke up a few days ago, after a long winter's nap, and now I'm getting ready for my big day. Got my claws done and put some product in my tail to make it nice and fluffy. I have to look my best for my big appearance...and I swear to God, if I see my shadow again this year I'm going to be pissed. Damn shadow scares the crap out of me every time, and next thing you know we're in for 6 more weeks of winter. I'd rather come out and strut around on a gloomy day. A nod here, a wink there...give the photographers their money's worth, if you know what I mean.

It wasn't so bad down in Missouri, but 6 more weeks of winter up here in Minnesota...sheesh. I think it would literally kill me.

But my shrink tells me I need to think more positively, so here's hoping...