And so it was that one early February morning, the groundhog woke up to the sound of his alarm clock. He turned it off, sighed in dismay, and looked at the calendar. The second of February was marked, and the rodent shook his head, wondering why he kept human calendars when he preferred to sleep all winter long, and who among his friends had come into his burrow and set his alarm clock. He would have preferred to sleep until May.
He got out of bed, sauntered down the passage, and there at the entrance he found the passage blocked with snow. Digging through, he reached the outside. And what did he see? A blinding snowstorm. Oh, the hell with this, he thought. I'm going back to bed until July.