Two timing touch and broken bones.

Oh, it's a beautiful day in the Absaroka-Beartooth neighborhood, a beautiful day in the Absaroka-Beartooth neighborhood.

Won't you be my, won't you be my, won't you be... my neighbor?

I am off for a backcountry wilderness adventure today in the 943,377 acre Absaroka Beartooth Wilderness, just north and east of Yellowstone, and I hope to meet some new neighbors.

Hi, neighbor!


That's my food that you smell, hanging high in a tree, no less than 100 feet from my tent. Um, why no, you do not smell any food in that tent. Yes, I'm sure. Uh-huh. Yes, I know your scientific name is Ursos Arctos Horribilis. Yes, I think that's a pretty cool name.

No, you cannot snack on my leg.
--

Why, hello, neighbor.



I see you. Wait. Where did you go?

Is that you, off to the left? It looks just like you, but that might be someone else.

Oh, there you are, off to my right, and slightly behind. No, wait.

I get it now. There are several of you.

Why are you circling me? Were those Northern Harrier Hawks talking shit about me?

Did I hear you say "hamstring?" Huh?

--
Why look, it's another neighbor!

Hi, neighbor!


I can't even see you. Or hear you. Yes, I know you are watching me. Waiting. Watching. Wondering, "Is he edible? He looks slow. Clumsy, too. And calorie-laden."

Yes, I realize I wouldn't even know you were there until you took one of your patented 25-foot leaps onto my back. But that's not neighborly, now is it?

And besides, the books all say that you are more scared of me than I am of you...

Right?

Right?

Right!?

Hello? Hello? Now where did you g