Earlier this spring, thanks to the generosity of a good friend and fellow nature lover, I got to spend a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the sun, on my belly, in the cold wet snow.
One male (only the males are out this early) was so tame and tolerant that I sometimes felt like he was giving me a tour of his kingdom. Between feeding on dried weeds, he pulled and nibbled on tiny green roots, scampered around, stood at attention, chased off other males that dared intrude too close, ducked into a hole when startled by a pair of honking geese, carefully groomed himself every half hour or so, and even took a short nap in a warm bed of dry hay.
Just as I was about to pack it in for the day, the gopher and I both spotted a Long-tailed Weasel bounding across the pasture. I tried to focus my camera on the weasel while the gopher eyed it with considerable consternation. After watching the weasel dive down into one of his holes, the gopher marched over and nervously chattered into the abyss. When no response was forthcoming, he seemed to forget about the threat and sauntered over to groom himself on a nearby mound of recently excavated dirt. By the time the weasel eventually reappeared out of a far-off hole, the gopher paid it no heed. When the weasel finally vanished into the snowy landscape, I - cold, soaked and happy - bid them both adieu and headed for home.
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