The fact that I now live where the Hodag reigns supreme should hold no sway.
I love the jackalope.
Love isn't a strong enough word.
I heart (<3) the jackalope.
I'm not one to hang animal trophies in my home, mind you, but I have one.
My little jackalope.
I picked it up years ago on a trip much like this one, traversing Interstate 80, at the Hitching Post Inn in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and since then, it has hung proudly in my summer cottage in the Wisconsin northwoods, amid knotty pine walls, a homage to my Wyoming roots.
I won't soon forget the day a young grandson saw that jackalope for the first time.
"It's a fake!" he proudly proclaimed.
Ah, no, it's not a fake. It's a jackalope.
Herewith, Wikipedia's entry on my favorite inhabitant of the sagebrushed plains of my Wyoming.
Hard to obtain because of the difficulty of catching and milking the female jackalope, a local delicacy, jackalope milk. Especially good in puddings.
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Ted Frier
Cleverley
J. P. Major
ohsillyme
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Salon.com
Comments
Rated for utter weirdness
Last night, in Cheyenne, Wyoming, I saw another little jackalope, and smiled. Wyoming has its particular charms.