For a good chunk of the summer I was able to monitor the activity of one particular visitor to the feeding station down by my Thinking Chair a little more closely than most of the others. Simple behavioral observations allowed me to hypothesize the “identity” of certain birds, but there was a mammal that became unmistakable due to a physical change that occurred. It was nothing serious, but it was as distinctive as a fingerprint.

The animal that I am speaking of is an eastern chipmunk (Tamias striatus) and it was almost certainly a female and this in itself was a point of contention for me. Whenever I go down to the Thinking Chair I make sure to bring a small bag of birdseed with me to set the table for the birds of the meadow. There are a few dependable visitors that dig into the food with gusto and this crowd of diners always manages to attract the attention of many other species that don’t have any particular interest in the seeds.

All of this activity was bound to attract the attention of non-avian visitors and eventually that included the local chipmunks. First there was just one. I grumbled when this little mammal appeared, but there wasn’t really much that I could do. I had laid out a buffet and the chips fell where they fell. The only thing that I could really do was to bring an extra bag of birdseed and become more strategic with its distribution.

Then the nightmare scenario unfolded and I saw that there was more than one chipmunk. There might have even been four individuals, but they were so similar in size and appearance that there was really no way to tell. I don’t recall seeing four at the same time, but I do remember that one of them eventually developed a distinctive physical “scar.”

On the bridge of the animal’s nose there suddenly appeared a couple patches of fur that sustained some sort of mild damage. There was no blood, nor was there any torn skin, but there was certainly a patch of fur that seemed to have been rubbed or scraped away. I might have been able to produce the same effect with a small set of hair clippers, but I have no idea how this particular area of damage actually occurred. My current hypothesis is that it ran into a large root while excavating a tunnel and scraped the fur away while working. However, this is an untestable hypothesis, so it is essentially worthless.

Anyway, the fact that I could identify this particular individual eventually led to a certain level of familiarity between us. I began to see patterns in her movements and it seemed inevitable that I would have to think up a name for her. At one point, “Roughhouse Rosie” crossed my mind and the moniker stuck. Whenever she appeared, I would grumble her name out loud. Whenever Rosie got into a dispute with another chipmunk I would say, “Go get ‘em Rosie!” Whenever Rosie attempted to help herself to the seed on my cup holder platform I would say, “Rosie, don’t you dare.”

Today’s photo was taken back in September and it was the last decent portrait of this particular animal that I took. Her presence was so regular that I eventually stopped taking photos of her, but not before the hair on her nose started to grow back a little. By next spring there will be no way to tell her apart from the others, no matter how she behaves.

I mention next spring because Rosie, like all of the other chipmunks in my area, appear to have “called the ball” for the season. A warren of tunnels and little rooms has been excavated and Rosie has spent months collecting seeds and stashing them underground. I can only imagine that she has a particularly vast network of little storage rooms that are absolutely bursting with birdseed. She will also have a sleeping chamber and even a little latrine area that is kept separate from all of the rest.

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The reason for this intricate network of chambers is because, at some point, Rosie will take one last look at the trees and the sky before she plugs up the entrances to her tunnels and commits to remaining underground for a period of four-to-five months. Down in the pitch-blackness of her tunnel system, Rosie will spend most of her time sleeping. Occasionally, she will wake up and get something to eat, but when there is (hopefully) a thick layer of snow on the ground there is no point in even attempting to go back up to the surface. By then, almost anything edible will already have been snatched up and the only realistic course of action is to hunker down and sleep through the winter.

On my most recent trip to the meadow I was surprised (and somewhat relieved) that the chipmunks too had vanished. There were a couple of cold days right after the holiday weekend and they may have been what triggered the retreat. The weather turned warm again, but the chipmunks had already committed to their hibernation and there was no turning back. Rosie might live for a period of three-to-four years, but the next time I see her she’ll just be another rouge rodent who spends all of her time pilfering seed from my feeding station.

Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 27 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more in formation visit his website at www.speakingofnature.com, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.