In Glacier Park, I once saw a ground squirrel perched in a Saskatoon bush, greedily shoveling berries into his mouth for all he was worth, purple juice dribbling down his bib. He saw us but didn’t want to leave his booty. He couldn’t even squawk at us, his mouth was so stuffed, I thought he might gag, so he beat his little chest and slapped the branch with his forepaws, as if to say, My bush. My bush.
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