Psst... I See Groundhogs

I should probably warn you that this may sound a little bizarre, but I seem to have developed a new gift kind of late in life. Come close so you can hear my dramatic whisper, "I see groundhogs."

I had a conversation recently with my brother-in-law about this strange phenomenon. It seems like no matter where I go, I see groundhogs somewhere close to the roadside rooting around, or just simply sitting and eating. I've seen close to 10 just in the last four weeks. That's nine more than I've seen my entire life up until 44 years of age. Oddly enough, though, I only see them when I'm driving.

So anyway, there we were chugging down the road chatting about my newfound talent. When I first told him that I see groundhogs, he said nothing at first. I glanced to make sure he hadn't jumped out of a moving vehicle.

"Where do you see groundhogs," he asked carefully, emphasizing the 'where.' He watched me like one watches a dangerous person.

I see them all over the place. I told him. Well, not all over the place, literally. They are always by the side of the road, obviously, as I'm driving to and fro from work, running errands or going places.

"You mean dead ones," he asked. "As in... Roadkill."
"No," I said. "Thes ones I see all are very much alive."
"What do they look like?"
"I know what a groundhog looks like," I nearly yelled. "I've seen 'Groundhog Day! They look like Punxatawny Phil!"

Coincidentally, there just happened to be a groundhog by the side of the road at that very moment.

"Look," I nearly yelled, pointing wildly at the side of the road. "There's one now!"

He didn't look in the direction I pointed until we were nearly past it.

"Dude," he said flatly. "That was totally a stump."
"No," I yelled. "No, it wasn't! Stumps don't have fur! Stumps don't eat! Stumps don't move!"

My new plan of attack is to slow down and try to get a picture of the next one with my cell phone. That way, I'll have irrefutable evidence to back up my claim of seeing small, furry woodland quadrupeds rooting around and eating by the road sides.

I made the mistake of telling his sister, alias my wife, and my son about my newfound talent for spotting groundhogs.

To date, my wife has yet to comment on the situation. And my son? Well, this is all he had to say on the matter.

"How convenient, Dad. You seem to be developing a neurological disorder. And Papaw (my father) just happens to be a neurologist. I think we can fix this."