TROY -- It may be a reach to call it Albymania.
Yet there's no denying that something's afoot (four feet, actually) on the campus at RPI, where an albino squirrel has cultivated a growing fan club.
First, a primer: Her name is Alby and she prefers Planters cocktail peanuts (salted, of course). Yet she rarely refuses pretzels, Granny Smith apple pieces or Wonderbread. She is slight, even for a squirrel, with a snow-white pelt and fluffy tail. Her eyes, like those of most albinos, are a milky red color.
Alby has developed into a mini-industry during the past year.
She now has her own Web site, including pictures of herself in action, but is not known to answer e-mail. Her likeness decorates T-shirts and sweat shirts being peddled by her most devoted fans, but the college is also cashing in. A new item in the student bookstore and one of its bestsellers is a plastic travel mug ($3.99) featuring a silhouette of Alby.
OK, maybe this does qualify as Albymania.
Sophomore Libby Rosenmann claims to have named the squirrel, whose preferred haunts are between the Sage, Amos Eaton and Lally buildings. This mini-quadrangle offers splendid hardwood trees, two tiny manicured gardens and easy access to a slew of heating ducts that provide quick warm-ups in winter.
Rosenmann, a West Sand Lake native, was smitten the first time she saw the all-white creature who will never be mistaken for her distant cousin, the rat. Rosenmann almost never leaves her dorm room without a can of peanuts to please her furry friend.
"I try not to lead her out near the road. The problem is, squirrels are really stupid," Rosenmann said. "They bury seeds and nuts and forget where they put them."
"The funny thing is, until last year nobody knew her as Alby. She was just the albino squirrel until I started calling her Alby," Rosenmann added. "It's like a phenomenon."
According to local legend, albino squirrels have been frequenting the RPI campus for more than a decade. Perhaps there's something squirrelly about the university with a national reputation for engineering excellence that attracts these creatures. The clothing line that Rosenmann and former RPI student Jameel Akari created has a playful phrase near Alby's picture on many of the items: Rensselaer School of Mutagenics.
It's also possible that there has been just one albino squirrel drawing all this attention. Squirrels that survive their first year, a period which for many of their kind results in fatal encounters with automobiles, usually live between five and 20 years.
Alby became pregnant last spring, Rosenmann said, explaining that her favorite squirrel developed enlarged nipples and gained weight before disappearing for a period. When she was next spotted, Alby was being shadowed by a petite gray squirrel, which Rosenmann believed to be Alby's offspring.
That Alby would give birth to a so-called normal squirrel makes sense. Albino squirrels are not an exotic species but a mutant strain of the gray squirrel, just as are the black squirrels frequently seen in Ontario, Canada, as well as in the Washington, D.C., area.
While Rosenmann and others are busy marketing the cute creature scampering about their campus, they have a long way to go to catch up to at least two communities that take great pride in the white squirrels living there.
The tiny town of Kenton, Tenn., (population 1,600) is so fond of the albino squirrels within its borders that it holds a parade as part of its "White Squirrel Homecoming Celebration."
But for true ardor you must turn to Olney, Ill., where an annual census of the creatures is taken by enthusiastic residents. As many as 200 albino squirrels have been counted in one year, though how the townsfolk know that they aren't counting some of the squirrels more than once remains a mystery. It's unlikely they use dimpled chads.
Police officers in Olney wear white squirrel insignia as arm patches, and doors of the town's municipal vehicles also bear a logo of an Alby look-alike.
In short, RPI has some catching up do considering its mascot is an engineer in the costume of a hockey puck.
"Alby will usually come to me when I call her, as long as it's not too cold out," Rosenmann said. "Once we get a lot of snow, it's real rare that you'll see her. Of course, she's got an advantage then. She blends right in."
For Alby's home page, go to http://www.rpi.edu/web/albino-squirrel/index.html
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