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AN AFTERNOON AT THE TORRINGTON GOPHER HOLE MUSEUM

In the ass-end of nowhere, Calgary, is a little dark room filled with taxidermic gophers. Seventy one to be exact, snuffed and stuffed, then dressed up and posed in forty four little scenarios.

In the ass-end of nowhere, Calgary, is a little dark room filled with taxidermic gophers. Seventy one to be exact, snuffed and stuffed, then dressed up and posed in 44 little scenarios. A Pennywise-esque clown with a red nose and neck ruffle clutches a bunch of balloons in its furry paws. A Sandra D, complete with poodle skirt, stares into the cold, unblinking eyes of her Danny under a full moon. A haughty Lutheran reverend steps up to the podium while his choirboy sleeps and a rodenty angel circles above his head. This is the "World Famous" Torrington Gopher Hole Museum, and I’ve been wanting to go for ages.

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I first heard about it a few years back, but as you can imagine, it’s one of those things that's quite difficult to get people to accompany you for a visit. So, this year when my birthday rolled around, I used that as leverage to get my sister and her family to take me as my birthday treat. As it happened, her mother- and father-in-law were visiting from out of town that weekend, and were dragged along for the ride. It was fun trying to explain to them where we were going. “A room full of what?” … “Why would you want to see something like that?” I’d be lying if I said I had an answer for them. I just did.

So after like a two-hour car ride through the prairies (on a highway that passes Driedmeat Lake. Seriously?) we arrived in Torrington, population 681. The museum itself wasn’t hard at all to find. Mostly because the town has a whole four streets (not so easy to get lost) but also because of the 12-foot sculpture of a gopher pointing out the way. (Coincidentally, all the fire hydrants had been painted as his kin.)

We paid $2 each to get in. My 18-month-old nephew started crying the moment we stepped inside. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the coolest place to take him (if he grows up to be some weird hair-sniffer or putter-of-lotion-on-his-skin I’m totally going to feel guilty). The room was about the size of a single garage, and all the curtains were closed, the shoebox-sized display cases lit up for our gophery voyeuristic pleasure. The parents-in-law took about two minutes to walk through the place, before ducking out the door with wrinkled noses and strange smiles that probably meant they’ll never look at me the same way again. Truth be told, it didn’t take me that long to walk through the place myself, but I figured we drove all this way, so I made myself do it twice. I decided the clown was my favorite – he was by far the creepiest. He made me wonder who came up with this whole idea. I pictured some heavy-breathing guy with thick glasses and a comb-over staring up at us through the floorboards, watching us, watching them…

The sweet old white haired lady who volunteered at the front desk told a much more boring story about tourism for the town and gophers wrecking the farms anddddd… oops, fell asleep on my keyboard. As we left, another group of people with Eastern European accents arrived. I noticed a map with pins in it from all over the world.

I’m still not really sure why I wanted to go, but I am glad that I did. I learned a lot about love that day.