Think Punxsutawney Phil is odd? These 16 Groundhog Day celebrations are even stranger.

Groundhog Day, an extremely strange and entirely silly holiday, has its claws deep in Pennsylvania, where Punxsutawney Phil, the undisputed grand master of groundhogs, gives his annual prediction from atop Gobbler’s Knob every Feb. 2.

But if spending yet another Groundhog Day with Punxsutawney Phil gives you déjà vu, there are dozens of other celebrations across the state that are even more bizarre. Many don’t involve real groundhogs (a.k.a. woodchucks), but instead feature stuffed animals, puppets, mascots / costumed humans, and mounted taxidermy speciment who give predictions from the top of a pagoda to the top of a manure spreader.

Some festivities are attended by dozens of people, others attract hundreds. And then there are the two guys in York County who bought a taxidermy groundhog on eBay, named it Susquehanna Sherman, and just kind of do their own thing.

Across North America (yes, those quirky Canadians get in on this too), there are about 100 active Groundhog Day forecasters, according to Michael Venos, who runs the Countdown to Groundhog Day website, which claims to be “the most comprehensive list of Groundhog Day prognosticators available anywhere on (or off) the internet.”

For Venos, 44, who didn’t have pets as a kid and became attached to the groundhogs he fed behind his North Jersey home, there’s a tongue-in-cheek joy in celebrating a holiday that isn’t as big as Christmas but acts like it is. Venos’ family makes groundhog cupcakes, groundhog sock puppets, and has even exchanged Groundhog Day gifts.

“It’s the silliness, it’s the weirdness of it all,” Venos said. “It’s cold here in the winter and it’s something to look forward to after all the other holidays are done and before the nice weather starts.”

The origins of the holiday date to the ancient Christian festival of Candlemas, which also falls on Feb. 2. It was believed that if hibernating animals, like badgers, came out on Candlemas and saw their shadow, there’d be six more weeks of winter, and if not, an early spring was ahead.

German immigrants who settled in Pennsylvania brought the tradition with them, adapting it to groundhogs, which were plentiful.

In 1886, the editor of the Punxsutawney Spirit Newspaper declared local groundhog Punxsutawney Phil the one true weather prognosticating groundhog, and the following year the first public Groundhog Day celebration was held at Gobbler’s Knob.

Legend has it that it’s the same Phil now as it was back then, and he stays young by drinking a secret beverage called the “elixir of life.”

But enough about Phil, as Ned “Needlenose” Ryerson might say (again and again and again), that groundhog sure as heckfire doesn’t need more publicity.

So let’s burrow into some of the lesser-known forecasters and celebrations, from Philly to Canada, that just might make you say “Wood the chuck?”

Hundreds of people stood around a hole at the John Heinz Wildlife Refuge in Southwest Philly on Saturday to serenade a groundhog puppet named Tinicum Tim out of his burrow by singing “Wake Up Little Timmy.”

Larry Stier, a member of the Friends of Heinz Refuge, created the event 15 years ago and led the crowd in a very silly groundhog hat and tie with his pants tucked firmly in his socks.

Tinicum Tim was raised from his leaf-covered burrow via an invisible fishing line, which actually worked pretty well until it snapped and sent Tim plummeting down. Stier declared Tim did not see his shadow, thus, signaling an early spring. Then Tim was sung back into his slumber with a rendition of “The Groundhog Sleeps Tonight.”

Always held the Saturday before Groundhog Day, the event was created to draw guests to the refuge in the winter, said Kelly Kemmerle, environmental education supervisor at John Heinz.

“There are quite a bit of real groundhogs that live at the refuge … but we went the puppet route because we are a national wildlife refuge and we’re all about protecting habitats and wildlife,” she said.

Since 2016, Harleysville Hank, a stuffed animal groundhog of “a more gentle plush nature,” has given his prognostication on Groundhog Day from the second-story window of the Nyce barn at the Mennonite Heritage Center in Harleysville, according to Joel Horst Nofziger, the center’s executive director.

Hank, who only speaks Pennsylvania Dutch, tells his prediction to a groundhog whisperer in a top hat who translates it for the crowd below. Then, everyone eats scrapple and shoofly pie.

“It’s a bit of serious nonsense,” Horst Nofziger said. “It’s just a fun time to get together for no good reason.”

For the last 18 years Patty Pagoda, a bucktooth groundhog mascot with a fancy pink bow, has given her prognostication atop the Reading Pagoda on Groundhog Day by picking a picture of a snowman or a sun.

Dressed in a red T-shirt adorned with his name (lest you forget it), Dover Doug is a groundhog mascot who delivers his prediction through interpretive dance. According to his LinkedIn page, Doug is the township’s “Chief Groundhog” and has done absolutely nothing else with his career.

Since 1981, Uni, a mounted, taxidermy groundhog who clutches tightly to a tiny American flag, begins his Groundhog Day by taking a float on an itty bit raft down the Tulpehocken Creek. He’s then brought to shore, where he delivers his prediction in Pennsylvania Dutch to a handler who relays it to the crowd.

Members of the Slumbering Lodge of Hibernating Governors go out on Groundhog Day in top hats and white coats in search of burrows and wait nearby for a groundhog to emerge. If one does, it’s deemed the Octoraro Orphie that year, if not, a substitute stuffed groundhog gets the honor.

Either way, Orphie’s prediction, which began in 1908, is announced by lodge members atop a manure spreader called the “Pinnacle of Prognostication.” Following the prediction, one of the lodge’s newly-inducted members is ceremonially dunked into the Octoraro Creek.

An entire weekend of events, including a 7:30 a.m. “drink to world peace,” occurs in Woodstock, Ill., where the movie Groundhog Day was filmed. Urban legend has it that city’s live groundhog prognosticator, Woodstock Willie, is a descendant of the groundhog from the film.

In an obvious attempt to win over fans, Polk County Paula, a groundhog mascot who delivers her prediction at a bar called the High Life Lounge in Des Moines, Iowa, hands out free early-morning Miller High Lifes to guests awaiting her prognostication.

Paula scribbles her forecast in a notebook, but it’s unclear whether anyone has been able to accurately read the prediction through their champagne-of-beer goggles.

Like many D.C. politicians, Potomac Phil is full of it — stuffing that is. The taxidermy groundhog, who calls himself the “National Groundhog,” makes weather and political predictions from Dupont Circle. Last year he accurately predicted “six more months of political gridlock.”

A particularly fishy prognosticator is Benny the Bass, whose prediction is based on whether he eats any of the minnows dumped into his tank within three minutes at the town’s annual Winterfest (if so, it’s an early spring).

Benny arrives at the festival in a fish tank that’s placed on a boat, which is then hauled in by a station wagon. According to reports, fans stand around his tank chanting, “Take the bait, spring can’t wait!”

Frog mascots Tad and Lil flip an oversize coin at the annual GroundFrog Day celebration in Snohomish, Wash., to deliver their “frognostication.” The event began with a real frog named Snohomish Slew, whose prediction was based on whether he croaked or not. Unfortunately, he really did croak and was replaced by the mascots.

Scramble is a live duck who bills himself as “an accurate alternative to the groundhog” and claims to have obtained a Ph.D. in weather predicting from Stormy Heights Academy. This quack gives his annual shadow-based forecast to a group of children in top hats at the Ivy Glenn Memorial in Eastford, Conn.

When it comes to weather predicting, Lucy the Lobster is a very clawful prognosticator. This crustacean from Nova Scotia bases her forecast on whether she sees her shadow when she crawls out of the ocean. In a dark twist, the town follows up Lucy’s prediction with a lobster crawl and lobster roll competition.

If you’re searching for an eggcellent prognosticator, look no further than Cluxatawney Henrietta, who’s prediction at Muscoot Farm in Katonah, N.Y., is determined by whether or not she lays an egg. If she cock-a-doodle-does, it’s an early spring, chickens.

On the docks of Nantucket, Mass., a quahog (a.k.a. a clam) which is named Quentin for the day is cracked open to deliver a weather forecast via squirt.

If Quentin squirts right when opened, it’s an early spring, if not, it’s six more weeks of winter, and if his shell is cracked in the process, a storm could be coming.

In an incredibly shellfish move, Quentin is consumed immediately afterward.

Concord Casimir is a rescue cat that predicts the weather based on how he eats his annual pierogi dinner in Concord, Ohio.

The prediction, which is interpreted by Casimir’s owner, can go many ways but is always purrfect. For instance, if Casimir is late to dinner, it will be a late spring, and if he plays with his pierogis and flips them around, it will be a “flip-flop” end of winter.