Speaking of Wildlife

Cargo, the Eastern Chipmunk

— by Jamie Proctor

Welcome to the twenty-second column describing the residents of Speaking of Wildlife: Ontario animals that can’t be released back into the wilderness due to permanent injuries or over-habituation to humans. Today we’ll be looking at one of our smallest large animals: Cargo the eastern chipmunk.

Chipmunks are essentially delinquent ground squirrels. While the rest of the family (marmots, groundhogs, prairie dogs, and their many cousins) obligingly remains more or less at or below ground level, chipmunks are at least as comfortable climbing branches as they are scurrying through undergrowth or scuttling amongst rocks: a true Swiss army squirrel.

Similarly flexible in diet, they are eager to feed on anything from berries, plants, fungi, and many many many nuts and seeds to insects and the occasional egg or luckless small vertebrate (snakes, frogs, baby birds, you name it). All but one of the twenty-five extant species of chipmunk are exclusively North American (the exception being the surprisingly widespread Siberian chipmunk), and of the remaining twenty-three all but two are predominantly found in the western half of the continent: the appropriately-tiny least chipmunk, which can be found as far east as Ontario (and as far north as the edge of Alaska), and the large (for a chipmunk) Eastern chipmunk, which covers the eastern half of the continent as far north as central Ontario.

Eastern chipmunks are enthusiastic diggers, fond of surprisingly long-reaching tunnels that can meander up to ten feet from the entrance with separate chambers set aside for food storage (stocked with the aid of their absurdly elastic cheek pouches), waste, and sleeping; the last of which they make full use of in their winter torpor, when they will wake only occasionally to feed on their in-house food storage.

All of this space is almost entirely for personal use: adult Eastern chipmunks don’t spend much time together outside of mating, and once the babies are old enough to leave, they are thoroughly encouraged to do so by their mother.

Our Eastern chipmunk, Cargo, was found orphaned or abandoned as an infant in the autumn, and once raised in rehab was deemed inappropriate for release. He ignored seasonal temperature changes that should’ve coaxed him to move into torpor for the winter, and he approached humans without fear or hesitation.

He was also physically enormous (his initial name in rehab was ‘Frank the Tank,’ and on intake with his eyes barely open he was already the size of some of the rehab center’s weanlings), but that was unrelated. Since release was impossible, he was moved to Speaking of Wildlife, where in place of a burrow he enjoys a three-story rodent enclosure with a nest box, many odd platforms and ramps, and as much space to endlessly hoard birdseed as he could possibly want (principally in his bedchamber). When sufficiently restless he has been known to execute wallrunning backflips.

Cargo and myself have had a relatively long but low-key relationship. When I began work the only available place for his enclosure was the office, which meant I got to see him every morning and lunch, something he only objected to insofar as I would eat things without sharing them with him first.

He was also one of the earlier animals I learned to feed properly, and the first to punish my inattentiveness. Lulled into a false sense of confidence by my inexperience, I was caught off-guard one day when instead of hopping face-first into his proffered food dish as per standard, he jumped onto my hand, did several laps around my neck, scampered back down my arm, dismounted in his enclosure, considered my hand, and nipped me on the finger.

The cut was functionally bloodless despite being delivered by a pair of tiny razor blades (classic rodent incisor-work), but the blow to my self-esteem was irreparable. I still feed Cargo to this day, but I do so with caution, with speed, and ideally by faking him out and putting his dinner three floors below where he’s currently standing. No more teeth:hand mishaps since then! 

Speaking of Wildlife is a non-profit wildlife sanctuary in Severn, Ontario. Contact Krystal today for private tours, or book them for your next party, or neighbourhood event, to see Cargo and other animals up close and personal. www.speakingofwildlife.ca.