Saturday, February 02, 2008

& now, a groundhog story, on Groundhog Day even:
this story inspired by bowlofcheese on twitter, who was calling for groundhog recipes for groundhog day.
Let me tell you, friends, how NOT to eat a groundhog:

Many years ago, my Mom had a fantastic dog. His name was Luther, he was a husky shepherd mix with one blue eye and an amazing, social, amiable just all around fantastic dog.
There are many stories about Luther & the lives that he touched. Luther had many great qualities, but at least one not so great one.
Luther was the DeathofGroundhogs. Not in a Terry Pratchett, wearing a cowl, carrying a scythe, talking LIKE THIS sense of the term (though that might be his current job in the afterlife. And he'd be great at it). No, i mean, if Luther ever, ever got the chance, he would kill groundhogs. With malice aforethought. This was a surprising trait, because he was an otherwise peaceful, sweet, loving being. But not when it came to groundhogs.
So, it's like this: My Mom & her partner, Lee, are fitness buffs. They hike and jog & go to the gym. Their idea of a vacation is a three week slog on the AT. (that gene definitely skipped a generation in me- i'm much more of the "whenever i get the urge to exercise, i lie down till it passes" type).
Luther was a great trail and running dog. Except for that groundhog issue.
So, one fine, sunny spring day, Lee went out for a cross country run with Luther. Later that day, they came over to our house to drop Luther off for the weekend (i think they were going out of town for a mini, not dog friendly vacation). As they're leaving, Lee calls over her shoulder "Umm, you might want to watch Luther tonight. He killed and ATE a groundhog this morning."
We're like, "yah, ok, whatever. He's eaten groundhogs before, hasn't he? Go have fun kids, the dog will be fine."
(pause to add in parenthesis that this was back in the day when i was with my first husband, Keith. A fine man, but a Canadian, and Keith was prudish in that deeply white way that many Canadians have perfected. Fart jokes= NOT his idea of funny)
A few hours later, we're sitting about happily, maybe watching a movie or reading books. Luther & our two dogs laying about the living room with us. All is quiet. Perhaps too quiet. Then it starts.
Not just any farts.
My eyes are watering at the memory of these farts and it's been 15 years at least.
I've been around freshly skunked dogs that have not smelled this foul.
Lethal, room clearing, eye watering farts.
Farts so bad that the other two dogs sat up, looked at each other in disgust and left the room.
As Keith and i are looking at each other in horror, we finally realize that the source of these foul odors is Luther, the sweet dog who is peacefully sleeping it off on the floor at our feet.
And it suddenly dawns on us:
these terrible emanations are GROUNDHOG FARTS!
And as we're shoving a confused, sleepy & cranky Luther out the door into the back yard, opening windows & looking for stinky candles (this is pre Febreze) Keith looks at me and says "I promise you that I will never, ever, ever eat a groundhog.

The end of my little cautionary tale.
If there is a moral to this story kids, it is this: Stay away from groundhog meat. Or if you must, COOK the damn thing before ingesting it. Cause if you can't resist groundhog sushi, I can promise you this: not even your dog will love you afterwards.

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