The Leash Expedition

Note:While the conversation between my nephew and I that sparked this idea did happen, the experience is something I imagined.

         Who would have thought that finding a leash for a groundhog would be this difficult?

         I thought back to how it all began, with an innocent comment by a tousled-hair five-year-old. His face was lit in wonder at the sight before him, a groundhog sunning on the grass up near the stoplight.

         "He's cute. I want one of those," Troy proclaimed.

         "Want one of what?" I asked absently, my attention focused on finding a CD appropriate for a child to hear.

         "One of those. Look, Aunt Dee! You have to look! Can I have him?"

         I had to smile at the scene that met my eyes. He was pointing at a groundhog, not a usual pet for a child.

         "Where will you keep it?" questioned my husband.

         A thoughtful look crossed Troy's face as he pondered his options. "I'll keep him in the rabbit pen."

         "He needs exercise. He won't like being cooped up in the pen all the time. How would you like having to stay in the same room all day, every day?"

         "I'll take him for walks, Uncle Scott. Really I will."

         "But how will you keep him from getting away?"

         Silence filled the cab of the truck as his young face screwed up in concentration. I was beginning to think that he had given up on the idea, but then he found an answer. "A leash. I'll put him on a leash."

         So now I find myself standing in front of an enormous array of collars and leashes, furiously hoping that one will say for groundhogs. I should have known better.

         A throat cleared behind me. I spun around to confront the pimply faced teenage clerk. "Is there something in particular you are looking for, ma'am?" he inquired, his voice breaking halfway through the question.

         "Umm, yes. I need a collar and a leash for a groundhog." My voice trailed off. The things I go through for the ones I love.

         "I'm sorry ma'am. A collar and leash for a what?"

         Bringing to mind the pleading green eyes that got me in this situation in the first place, I asked myself if it was really worth all this trouble. The picture of my nephew, clad in blue shorts and his favorite Spiderman shirt, waiting anxiously for the leash for his groundhog flashed through my head. I sighed. Steeling myself against the laughter I was sure to come, I tried again. "For a groundhog."

         "I'm sorry, but did you say a groundhog?" An incredulous look crossed the clerk's face as he looked around the store quickly, sure that one of his friends had set him up.

         "Yes, a groundhog." Embarrassment gave my words a sharp tone as color flooded my cheeks. "The little furry brown critter that tells us if winter is staying or going."

         "Well that's a new one. We don't carry collars for groundhogs."

         "But I need one. I promised my nephew he was getting one, and I'm not leaving this store until I get one."

         "Well I suppose you could use a regular dog collar. How big is this groundhog's neck?" He snickered.

         I must admit I was stunned by that question. I whipped out my cell phone and dialed furiously. A sigh of relief crossed my lips as my frantic call was answered.

         "Hi Pam. I need you to measure the groundhog's neck so I can get a collar."

         "Are you out of your mind? I'm not touching that nasty thing!" Troy's mother replied. It had always amazed me that she did not like animals, especially since she loved the outdoors. She was always planning cookouts, hiking excursions, and camping trips.

         "Well isn't anybody there that can do it?" I pleaded.

         Luck was with me that day. My brother-in-law had came in for lunch and agreed to take up the task of measuring the groundhog. Several minutes passed, filled with grunts and low curses. It seems the groundhog was a little upset about being put in a cage. Finally, I got the answer I needed.

         Relaying the information to the clerk, I stood back and waited for him to find that perfect collar.

         "Here you go ma'am," the clerk finally said.

         Staring at the pink collar dangling in his sweaty hands, I pulled back in revulsion. "Umm you can just tell me the size. I don't think pink will work for this groundhog."

         Sighing in frustration, he gave me the information and wandered off to help another customer, one that appeared saner than I, I'm sure.

         Three hours after I'd started my adventure, I emerged from the pet store, a bag triumphantly clutched in my hands.

         If they don't like the leash, I'll strangle them with it.