When we visited Lew's mother last weekend, she told us about a chipmunk.
The chipmunk was apparently living under her deck. She has a good view of the deck from the living room chair that she usually sits in.
"He's adorable," she told us. "He sits up on the railing of the deck and looks around."
We went to see her today, and I asked her about the chipmunk. She hasn't seen him around for a few days, which we decided was probably due to the disappearing snow. (More places for chipmunks to hang out now....)
She does hope that the chipmunk is OK, because she named him. And isn't that how we get attached to animals? By giving them a name?
If you happen to see Elvis, please tell him to check in with Grammy!
(Postscript: I once had some neighbors who raised poultry to eat. They told me they made a mistake one year by naming one of the birds "Pretty Boy." Well, Pretty Boy did end up in the freezer, but apparently he never made it to the dinner table.)
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