I still remember the day the little rascal became part of our family. My dad and his best friend, Charles Warwick, were cruising the deer lease in the old Willys jeep searching for signs of where a whitetail buck might possibly show himself. Just around a bend in the road, trying to scurry up the steep bank of the ancient Claiborne County trail, was a small rodent jumping for his life. In a flash, the deer hunters had him trapped between the two of them. Realizing he couldn’t scale the dirt wall; the furry creature made a mad dash attempting to run between the legs of the camo clad duo. It didn’t work. At the time, we never realized how our lives would be impacted for many years by the chipmunk we all grew to love and cherish. Here’s the story of “Chippy.”
Dad walked into the house holding the Folgers’ coffee can. We could hear something scratching on the sides, but it wasn’t until we peered into the can that we realized what it was. He couldn’t have been over a couple weeks old, but as soon as we gathered around the can, my mother went to work. I was always rescuing baby birds in the neighborhood, or I should say just catching them. I would raise them until they were ready to fly, then turn them loose in the backyard. Mom went to the storage room and retrieved my old bird cage. We already had a small wooden box with a hole in it that would make the perfect chipmunk condo.
While we shredded newspapers for bedding, mom was heating up milk and scrounging through the cabinets for a baby bottle. He latched onto that nipple right off the bat. It wasn’t long before the furry creature’s eyes became heavy. It took a minute or two, but he found refuge in the box in his new home and dozed off. Afterall, his day had been quite traumatic.
In the coming weeks, Chippy was introduced to all kinds of new delicacies. He learned to recognize the sound of us tapping on the cage, indicating morsels were ready for the taking. Comical it was, to watch him take our offerings and stuff those little cheeks to the point where it looked like he had the mumps. Acorns, cashews, filberts, and pecans were always available. I must say though, I think pomegranate seeds were his favorite. The small seeds were separated from the pome, and I would hold them between my thumb and index finger and place them in front of him as he pawed the cage for more. Invariably, he would gently take each seed and stuff them into those expandable pockets within his jaws. When he reached maximum carrying capacity, he would scurry to his haunt and stow them in his cache, then return for more.
Once every couple of weeks my mother would clean his cage. It was funny how she always had to do the dirty work. Chippy had some sharp incisors, so she would don heavy gloves and catch him. Back into the coffee can he would go, and when the cleaning task was complete, he was released back into his sparkling cage, full of fresh newspaper clippings, and a fresh water bowl. You know, I think he really appreciated this gesture, for he would make wild loops around his fresh surroundings, tumbling and jumping. I suppose everyone loves coming home to a clean house.
We had a small box next to his cage that held an assortment of nuts. One Christmas Eve, our neighbor, Mr. Joe Sanderson, walked over for a glass of eggnog. I’m sure it was enriched with nutmeg and a splash of bourbon. Soon, Mr. Joe found the box of nuts and began to help himself. It wasn’t until a little later that he commented, “some of these nuts are a little bitter.” Not only was he cracking the filberts and almonds, but he was also helping himself to a batch of the red oak acorns I had collected from the woods. I don’t think we ever told him differently. If Gail reads this, I know she will crack up laughing.
The name “chipmunk” probably comes from the Ojibwe word “ajidamoo” meaning “one who descends trees headlong.” First described by Mark Catesby in his 1743 “The Natural History of Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands,” the chipmunk was eventually classified as “Sciurus striatus” by Carl Linnaeus meaning “striped squirrel” in Latin. The scientific name was changed to “Tamias striatus” meaning “striped steward” by Johann Illiger in 1811.
The eastern chipmunk lives in deciduous wooded areas and urban parks throughout the eastern United States and southern Canada. It prefers locations with rocky areas, brush, log piles, and shrubs to provide cover. This funny mammal can climb trees well, but constructs underground nests with extensive tunnel systems, often with several entrances. To hide the construction of its burrow, the chipmunk will line the entrances and the dens with leaves, rocks, sticks, and other materials. In the case of “my” Chippy, he used the newspaper. I wonder if he ever read the comic strips? I bet he would have loved “Pogo.”
In addition to the diet I have described, chipmunks will also forage upon bulbs. seeds, fruits, nuts, green plants, mushrooms, and small insects. Voracious little rascals, aren’t they? Predators include hawks, owls, snakes, bobcats, coyotes, and feral dogs and cats. In the wild, on average, the lifespan of a chipmunk is three or four years, but in captivity they may live as long as eight years. Chippy out did them all, he made it 10 years.
David Tatum was one of my good friends in elementary school. We romped the hills and fields together for many years. I will never forget the day David wanted to pet Chippy. I cautioned him about those sharp teeth, but he informed me that chipmunks were his heroes and there was nothing to worry about. He gently put his finger into Chippie’s cage to pet him on his forehead. I couldn’t help but tell him “I told you so” when he jerked his finger back with two small holes oozing blood. Mom went straight to the medicine cabinet and returned with a band aid. No wonder mom used those gloves.
While hunting, I only noticed chipmunks in the woods around the Port Gibson area. That is until the other day. I was in my haunt in Madison County, when I saw a small squirrel scurry down a log. I thought to myself, that must be a newborn. I peered through my binoculars, and it was plain as day that I was watching a chipmunk. For almost forty years, I have walked and stomped the swamps here. This is the first one I have ever seen in this region. I will be reaching out to some of my comrades and wildlife authorities to see if they are common in the Big Black River region. I didn’t see my buck that afternoon, but I was thrilled with my new companion that lives where I do. I hope he stays safe from the coyotes and the owls.
I know you have heard me mention the book and the movie “Rascal” in the past. This was a glorious story about a boy and his befriended raccoon that, for a brief time, had a wonderful relationship and created lifelong memories with each other. I suppose, in a sense, Chippy was my Rascal. We didn’t go fishing together, or share grape soda with each other, nor did we sleep together, but there wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t talk to him and offer him treats that other chipmunks weren’t exposed to. Deep down, I truly believe his life was rewarded as much as mine was for knowing him. I still think of that cute lil booger.
Did you ever have a friend from the woods? Perhaps you had a racoon or a skunk. Those were simpler times back then, for sure. Also, if you have seen chipmunks around these here parts, drop me a note for I would like to hear your story too.
Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
