The newsroom came to a complete halt over one word.
“Hare.”
Or was it “Hair?”
Eleven minutes later we’d consulted the AP Stylebook, the Chronicle of Higher Education, the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission, a state furbearer biologist, and had somehow wandered into a discussion about animals born fully furred.
No engaging conversation about the Fully Furred would be complete without reference to a North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission Furbearer Biologist.
It’s a real job, the Furbearer Specialist. Meaning, so it seems, that Fully-Furred Furbear expertise is a legitimate university course of study.
Can’t you just hear it?
“What are you majoring in?” the accounting guy asks his dorm mate.
“The Fully Furred,” the other guy says, dumping ice atop three cases of Strohs beer.
“Yeah, right,” the accounting guy says. “Seriously. And what’s with the beer?”
“Seriously,” the other guy says, “I’m in the Furbearer Program studying the Fully Furred. The beer is for tonight’s study group. You’re not invited.”
And with that, the accounting guy skyrockets out of the door directly to the Registrar’s office for a change of majors thinking life was about to get far more interesting than ledger sheets.
Which brings us to The Paper and the newsroom debate.
Young Jacob had just turned in to Editor Emeritus Bill a column about fireworks and certain people getting all wrought up over a few cherry bombs. The 14th paragraph contained a sentence saying that passersby from yesteryear would see him “... with a skateboard in hand and a wild hare up my — well, you get the point.”
“Bill,” I said. “You read Jacob’s column?”
“I did,” he said, munching on a barbecue potato chip.
“You ever hear of a Wild Hare, H-A-R-E?” I said.
“Nope. I’ve heard of a “Wild Hair, H-A-I-R,” he said between chomps. “Never a ‘Wild Hare’ I wanted your take.”
“Jacob,” I said. “What’s with the ‘Wild H-A-R-E’?”
“That’s what it is,” Jacob said.
“H-A-R-E?” I said. “You sure you don’t mean H-A-I-R?”
“H-A-I-R?” Jacob said. “I’ve always said, H-A-R-E.”
Front Desk Lilly jumped in and said, “Whoever heard of a Wild H-A-R-E?”
“I’m looking it up,” Poteat said, pushing aside the bag of chips and bearing down on his keyboard.
“I have,” said Young Mica from the corner. “All hares are wild.”
“I’ve heard of Wild Rabbits,” I said. “Like Bugs Bunny.”
“Bugs Bunny was a rabbit,” Young Mica said. “Not a H-A-R-E.”
I said, “H-A-I-R, H-A-R-E? Come on guys, let’s —”
Poteat looked up from his computer, brushed a few barbecue crumbs from his desk and said, “Here. It’s right here. I got it. They both are correct, but readers of the Chronicle of Higher Education forum voted 45% to 17% for ‘Wild H-A-I-R’.”
“Besides,” Young Mica said, “Bugs Bunny was a rabbit. Not a hare. Rabbits are born blind and naked. Hares are born fully furred.”
“Fully WHAT?” Poteat said.
“Furred,” Young Mica said. “Born fully furred. With big ears. Rabbits have little ears.”
“Born fully WHAT?” Poteat said.
“Come on, Poteat,” I said. “You went to UNC. Wasn’t everyone there Fully Furred?”
“I’ve never heard of being born fully furred,” Front Desk Lilly said.
At this stage we are only 90 seconds into the conversation. But it was enough to draw considerable attention from our Very Young Intern, Jayden. She spun in her desk chair to face the newsroom. Her face reflected astonishment.
“Hey, Josh,” I said to The Paper’s current Managing Editor and former Assistant Sports Editor. “You were in sports. There’re all kinds of people in sports. You ever heard of being born with Big Ears and Fully Furred?”
“Nope,” he said, uttering his afternoon quota of chatter.
“Maybe,” Young Jacob said, “it’s funnier with H-A-R-E instead of H-A-I-R.”
Front Desk Lilly said, “I mean, a wild H-A-I-R is a lot different from a big-eared H-A-R-E.”
“Besides,” Poteat said, scrolling through his research, “says here that the wild H-A-I-R is typically a rude expression that refers to an ingrown, inflamed perianal hair.”
In the ensuing silence, Young Jacob said, “Let’s see what the Wildlife Commission has to say about it.”
“Are you telling me that the state has a department of people studying the Fully Furred?” I said. “You have to be kidding. Man, did I pick the wrong major in college.”
“Let’s get the esteemed Executive Editor Angela’s opinion on it,” Poteat said. “Angela, you’re the Style Police, what say ye?”
From her corner office, Angela said, “I can’t hear what you’re talking about. And if I could hear what you’re talking about I wouldn’t acknowledge what you’re talking about. And even if I acknowledged what you’re talking about I wouldn’t get within five miles of whatever it is being talked about.”
“It’s H-A-I-R,” young Mica said definitively. “A H-A-R-E would be painful.”
“Especially Fully Furred,” Poteat said. We were the only ones who chuckled.
I turned to the Very Young Intern Jayden, whose desk is next to mine, and said, “Jayden, you want to be a publisher one day. Think about the payroll costs of this conversation.”
“I can imagine,” she said tactfully.
“What else is born big eared and fully furred?” Poteat said.
“Besides UNC students?” I said. “HA HA HA HA.” No one else laughed.
“The state’s Game and Furbearer Program oversees the conservation, research, and management of 17 furbearer species,” Young Jacob said. “Such as bobcats, beavers —”
“And how in the hell DO YOU KNOW THIS?” I said.
“I’m researching a story about an Armadillo infestation in North Carolina,” Young Jacob said. “Just came across it. Others born Fully Furred are foxes, coyotes, otters.”
At this point, I ended the discussion.
“H-A-I-R,” I said. “We’re going with H-A-I-R. That’s the expression, and that’s what we’re saying.”
Young Jacob changed the word. Poteat returned to his barbecue chips. Angela remained five miles away from the conversation. And Jayden, a UNC student, quietly reconsidered her chosen career.
The debate lasted 11 minutes, involved eight employees, the AP Stylebook, the Chronicle of Higher Education, and the North Carolina Wildlife Resources Commission.
By my calculations, it cost about $47.63.




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