So it turns out our new house is right on the Woodland Creature Walk of Fame. We had no idea, but I can’t say we’re not thrilled!
I’m guessing they (the Academy of Woodland Creatures) hold these lavish yet clandestine ceremonies in the middle of the night – you probably can’t even get in without a press pass. With tears of pride streaming down their fuzzy faces, the little buggers must solemnly press their paws into wet cement to create these gorgeous monuments honoring the most revered and accomplished furballs in nature.
Seriously, our block is a who’s who of rodent royalty.
These unmistakable mitts belong to the vaunted raccoon – a trailblazing icon who was the first to discover that if you gnaw on the side of my toolshed long enough and hard enough, you’ll forge a hole just big enough for you to squeeze halfway through before perishing in a festooned heap because of all the toxic plastic you just consumed.
And here’s… I wanna say a possum? Where would we be without the possum? Let’s just say that on many a night my wife has been spared from my unwanted advances by “playing possum.” A most worthy vermin!
Here’s the revered weasel (who apparently attended the ceremony stumbling drunk).
Some may scoff and say these garish installations are yet another example of the whole nature industry just fellating itself, and that they’ve completely lost track of whether the common man even cares about their insular little world of fancy nuts and scurrying about.
But I defy you to tell me the pocket gopher doesn’t deserve immortal tribute in a slab of Quikrete for being able to run just as fast backwards as forward. When you’re celebrating “outstanding achievements in the field of woodland creaturey,” there’s no room for modesty.
As you can see here, they’ve even commemorated the American robin, which, one could argue, is more avian than woodland, but who am I to question the esteemed committee that makes these decisions?
You might think it’s inconvenient to live so close to a tourist destination like this, but honestly I only rarely hear grown men down the street shouting, “The prairie vole! Honey, I found the prairie vole!”
The northern short-tailed shrew, in a cheeky bit of social commentary, chose to impress only its left paws in cement as a nod to its political inclinations.
For the most part, these are very private and reserved creatures that keep to themselves in their isolated estates along the manicured paths of the local forest preserve. So it’s surprising that they could be roused to partake in such audacious displays of self-recognition.
But when your life consists mainly of avoiding hawk talons and extruding puzzling fecal matter on people’s lawns, it’s understandable that you might seek some form of permanent legacy for an otherwise short and meaningless existence.
So I humbly invite you to come see the wonders of the Woodland Creature Walk of Fame. Stroll its hallowed paths and discover countless surprises (the titmouse is actually a bird!). These adorable impressions in cement will leave enduring impressions in your heart.
