To the casual onlooker, I’m a normal Notre Dame student. Not one of them would ever suspect that I carry a heavy secret. But I am coming clean. Here is my affidavit:
I killed a chipmunk April 11, 2023.
The chipmunk darted beneath my foot.
With no time to react, my sandals crushed the chipmunk
I immediately left the crime scene without calling for medical help or a priest to perform a deathbed confession.
I swear that the above representations are true and correct to the best of my information, knowledge and belief.
But there is more to the story.
It was a warm spring Thursday, and I was heading to Remick Family Hall to take the free snacks study. Although I was wearing my Jesus sandals, he surely would have disapproved of what happened next. Out of nowhere, a chipmunk dashed across the sidewalk. I can only assume it was running from Keenan, because no one has run to Zahm, at least not of their own volition. It all happened so fast. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t react. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other. This was the cause of death. I felt its little body crumble beneath the weight of my size 11.5 Birkenstock. I am no serial killer, but the death was reminiscent of Rice Krispies, the way I heard a snap, crackle and pop. It’s like they say: “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back; step on a chipmunk, break a chipmunk’s back, in addition to crushing its skull and organs.” There was no chance of survival. The chipmunk’s little body lay lifeless between Keenan and Zahm. Humiliating. Given the choice, I’m sure it would have even preferred the public embarrassment of falling down the Duncan stairs. And then I left, a textbook squash-and-run. When I returned to the crime scene days later, a typical behavior displayed by murderers, the body was gone. And that was it.
I’ve done plenty of good at this school, but this incident sits heavily with me, like the dining hall Brazilian bowl. The one good thing to come from this experience is that I found a new community in The Squirrel Board. It’s like Reddit, but for all things squirrel-related. All the kind squirrel and chipmunk enthusiasts (nuts) on this platform really helped me through this dark time. Specifically, the stepped on a chippy thread. With over 1 million posts and 5,503 members, this is the perfect replacement for those who gave up other social media platforms for Lent.
I know I should have come forward with this sooner, but I’ve got PETA on my tail the way my foot was on that chipmunk’s. The six people who actually read my column may remember last September, when I shared my journey into goldfish parenthood. With seemingly nothing else to do, PETA somehow found that article and took it upon themselves to reach out because they were concerned about how ethically I am treating my goldfish and wanted to rebut some of the “common myths” I included in my article. If PETA is reading this, A) My fish is (shockingly) still alive and B) I’m not scared of you anymore.
I’m an honest woman, and I’ve got people in my corner to back me up. My fish co-parent maintains, “I felt sorry for the chipmunk. It didn’t deserve that. But what matters is intent, and I don’t think Allison meant to harm the little creature.” Others believe the accident has upped my intimidation factor. Aubrey advised, “Don’t mess with Allison, or you’ll end up like that chipmunk.” Even still, I felt guilty.
I didn’t know how to make this right. Normally, I write a lengthy apology letter. These are well received and typically absolve me of guilt. According to one recipient of a four-page handwritten apology letter, “They are effective unless the letter disses you even more.” But words do not hold up in this case. The chipmunk is dead and illiterate. There’s no getting around that. So all I’m left with is rationalization.
Yes, the chipmunk is dead. But this incident happened three years ago. Chipmunks only live two to three years. That chipmunk would be dead by now anyway. And not one person noticed the chipmunk was gone. I’ve asked around, and nobody on this campus has one good thing to say about the squirrels. When asked about the vermin, one sophomore remarked, “They’re gross, hairy, incapable of human interaction, ill mannered and they never look good with the bleached hair.”
According to North Quad resident Elle, who tried extending an olive branch to the squirrels, “they do not respond to normal human etiquette.” When Elle took a dining hall cookie to offer the squirrels, she said she “wanted the cookie to spark a meaningful connection, a gift directly from me.” She gracefully lowered the cookie, but the bloodthirsty squirrel bit her hand. Elle recalls, “I screamed, terrifying a tour group full of prospective students. None of them enrolled.” As for the squirrel, Elle remarked, “I felt used. I was trying to enter a civil trade relationship, and it took advantage of me.”
Why are these chipmunks and squirrels so unlikable and uncivilized? We may never know. Chemistry graduate student Taylor notes, “I would like to do tests on them.” Unfortunately, the grueling demands of a grad student lifestyle leave little time for “frivolous” problems. For now, all we can do is forgive those of us with big feet but no malicious intent. According to Julia, humility is “a lesson that I hope Allison has learned. And a lesson for the world.”
I will soon graduate, but I don’t want this chipmunk to be forgotten. Other university greats have dorms, grants or committees named in their honor. For this chipmunk, I give something better, a place in my digital footprint. Dorms get knocked down, research defunded, initiatives repealed, but digital footprints live forever. We will all die one day, but now, this chipmunk is immortal.
