As soon as we realized the keys were missing I knew it was those damn marmots.
It had to be those cute marmots who I just couldn’t get enough of. I had literally spent the last hour wandering our camp site and instead of singing
“Here kitty, kitty”
I was shaking a bag of organic sprouted wheat bread, new digital camera around my neck and a hopeful look in my eyes while hollering
“Here marmot, marmot, marmot”
I just wanted one picture of a cute and cuddly marmot before I said goodbye to this completely hideous altitude sickness that had left me a woozy mess for the last twenty-four hours and we left White Mountain behind us.
Maybe I missed my fluffy kitty cats or maybe I had White Mountain Madness.
One thing was for sure; the truck
was one hundred percent packed to the gills with our smelly camper supplies, we were eighteen miles down a dirt road and eight thousand feet above Bishop, the closest town and there was no sign of the truck keys any where.
The truck keys were gone and we were at one of the most desolate spots in California. The sign in the bathroom pit toilet had warned just how sneaky those damn adorable marmots were and we had looked in all the places the keys could be.
I just knew in my heart the marmots had snatched them, probably while I was playing with the settings on the new digital camera. We were just starting to give in to the thought that, we are going to be in some major trouble here, and had unpacked half the truck and camping supplies when I just happened to shake a sleeping bag and out fell the keys!
Okay marmots! You win this time, you cuddly bastards!