ground squirrel


A chipmunk I found in the Fox Creek Drainage, eating grass and weed seeds.

Nikon D7100, Manual Mode, Tamron 150-600mm VC, F/6.3, ISO-400, ET 1/640, Focal Length 600mm, Handheld Vibration Control on

  • Dr. Iplier: That’s it! You’re grounded. [to King] No squirrels for you. Yandere, no Senpai for you. [to Wilford] No guns for you. And…
  • Dr. Iplier: [to Dark] Oh my God, is there anything that you love?
  • Dark: Revenge.
  • Dr. Iplier: No vengeance for you.
  • Dark: I was gonna say “I’ll get you for this,” but I guess that’s off the table.
Can Prairie Dogs Talk?
An Arizona biologist believes that their sounds should be considered language — and that someday we’ll understand what they have to say.
By Ferris Jabr

Prairie-dog communication is so complex, Slobodchikoff says — so expressive and rich in information — that it constitutes nothing less than language.

That would be an audacious claim to make about even the most overtly intelligent species — say, a chimpanzee or a dolphin — let alone some kind of dirt hamster with a brain that barely weighs more than a grape. The majority of linguists and animal-communication experts maintain that language is restricted to a single species: ourselves.

Perhaps because it is so ostensibly entwined with thought, with consciousness and our sense of self, language is the last bastion encircling human exceptionalism.

To concede that we share language with other species is to finally and fully admit that we are different from other animals only in degrees not in kind. In many people’s minds, language is the “cardinal distinction between man and animal, a sheerly dividing line as abrupt and immovable as a cliff,” as Tom Wolfe argues in his book “The Kingdom of Speech,” published last year…