Alas, no love for the lonely marmot

It’s lonely at the top. Especially at the tops of mountains. Just ask a marmot.

Hours on end with no one to visit with except other alpine rodents. And when folks come along, well, this is how it goes down.

The marmot approaches. Looking for company, conversation, or perhaps a bite or ten from whatever’s in your backpack,Β this adorable little furball turns on all his charms.

marmot1

Their eyes meet. “Come to me, my love, and bring your Clif Bar.”

marmot2

And then it gets awkward. The little guy’s fuzzy advances are blown off. No cute pet talk, no freebies from the GORP sack, barely any acknowledgement from the target of his affection. Or greed. Or whatever. The pain of being spurned must be unbearable… wait a minute. Is that thing looking at me? Oh hell no, you little mountain rat. Stay away from my stash!

marmot3

(In all seriousness, look, but don’t touch. And definitely do not feed them. It just emboldens them to shred your pack, tent or car looking for treats.)

Bob Doucette

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