It’s February 2nd, and everybody’s flown into Punxsutawney again to see the moment Phil comes out of his hole. Three! Two! One! everybody chants as Phil’s caretaker, that’s me, chugs a massive beer in preparation for pulling him out of the ground. I stumble over to his hole and pull out… a pile of dirt? No, no this is bad. Phil is not a pile of dirt. Phil is certainly a groundhog.
No one’s noticed that Phil’s missing, so I’ve got like, max five minutes to find my car keys, and three minutes to get to the Replacement Phil store where I left my car last night.
Why was I there? Well, yesterday I accidentally dropped Phil #37 down the stairs. I named him that after he hit thirty-seven steps on the way down—this was more than what any Phil had survived so far and also more than what any Phil had died from so far. Needless to say, Phil #37 was dead.
As I run to the Replacement store, I try my best to remember where I left the new Phil, Phil #6, who is actually the fourth Phil named Phil #6 and the sixth Phil overall, in terms of coolness. If you asked me today, I couldn’t tell you how many Phils I’ve lost. Yesterday, over nine hundred.
I’ve made it to the store and my car is right where I left it, halfway through the storefront and fully through two poor Phils in display cases. I was in a hurry yesterday because Phil #37 was hurt real bad and in the shape of a potato sack. This is a very unhealthy shape for a groundhog who is normally in the shape of one large potato and not many separate smaller potatoes, which says something very grim about his fall down the stairs.
I crawl into the drivers seat and peel away from the Replacement Phil store, accelerating over what seems to be a speed bump. Checking the rearview mirror, it’s just as I had feared. Phil #6 is in the backseat, and he just saw me speed through a school zone. That’s not who I am, I plead to Phil #6, knowing he can’t distinguish between my reflection and me. He says nothing. Groundhogs can’t talk.
With Punxsutawney Phil secured and the gas pedal under my foot, I speed back to the park and bury Phil #6 into his hole right before the reporters notice. With the cameras pointing, he pops out, swivels, and stares directly at his shadow, sneaking me a wink. Smooth. Even Phil #5 didn’t move like that.